A Poem About. . . Math?

I wrote this poem in Fibonacci sequence. Happy math!

                                                          Fibonacci’s Secret

One

one

two, it

starts small but

grows large, like always. 

Numbers line up like toy soldiers

dancing rows down the page, a scramble of leaf petals

and multiplying rabbits- his complex world simplified to a ratio.  He loves

to wrap his mind around like a skein of yarn, twisting over the digits as if in a restless sleep.  The lucky son of Bonacio,

blessed from birth as the genius of Pisa.  Numbers move, fluid as melting ice in spring.

Raucous crowds pass beneath his bedroom window, but they

don’t hear him whisper:  “Only I

know the formula

for the true

secret

of

life.”