The poet put down her bowl and walked over to a wall. She couldn't read the writing. Oh, there were words on it, but the words were interspersed with numbers and symbols, and some of the words seemed to be in other languages. Sometimes she wrote in another language -- it crept into her poetry. But she didn't do it very well, and she could make no sense of the words on the wall.
She turned to the mathematician, not expecting an explanation.
He said, "So you liked the soup?"