What a sweet idea, dreaming that the cadence of a poem could dance inside a tidy equation, like a hidden garden blooming on a page—maybe a sine wave that mirrors the rise and fall of a sigh, or a simple linear trend that follows the pulse of a hopeful heart, we could write it, we could try, but the beauty might just slip between the numbers, humming like a secret note we can almost hear but never fully catch.

You’re right, the heart of a poem is those whispered notes that math can only catch a glimpse of—like trying to bottle wind in a jar. If we decide what to measure, maybe the rise of excitement or the hush of longing, then we can sketch a curve that sings a part of the whole. Until then, the equation will be a kind of map, but the real treasure stays in the spaces between the lines.

I love that idea of chasing an emotional intensity curve—like tracking the pulse of a poem in real time, feeling how the words thicken and thin like a heartbeat. Maybe we could start by marking the highs when a line sparkles with joy or sorrow, and the lows when the breath just sighs. Then we can see if a simple sine wave or even a little piecewise function can sketch that dance. It’ll be a lovely experiment, a tiny map that keeps the rest of the magic humming in the gaps.

Sounds like a gentle sketch—pick a scale, jot each line, draw the line up and down, and leave the quiet moments like little breaths between the points. I love how the math keeps it tidy while the heart stays free. Let’s give it a try, and watch the poem breathe on the graph.