Roll one or two, and Yin begins its rise,

A shadow falls beneath the earthly skies.

The lowest number claims a darkened stain,

And on the Wheel, the shadows wax again.

Roll three or four, and Yang breaks through the night,

To paint the waiting grid in blinding light.

But five or six will bring a wilder grace,

As Chaos enters in this sacred space.

No wheel is touched, no predetermined path,

Just freedom's choice, defying law and math.

And if a number fills and overflows,

The wheel absorbs the weight of what it owes.

The grid grows full, the final square is bound,

The cycle stops, the silent truth is found.

Now count the circles where the arrows meet,

To see if cosmic victory is complete.

For if the light and dark are matched in size,

The world ascends, and perfect balance lies.

Designed for The Toner-Saver Showdown