Webby

In petals soft and spirals tight,
A whisper curves in golden light.
From seed to shell, the pattern grows,
In silent math the cosmos shows.
Each number builds on those before,
A dance of nature’s ancient lore.
A spiral traced by unseen hand,
The artist’s brush across the land.
Fibonacci’s quiet song,
Where numbers and the wild belong,
In every leaf, in every star,
The sacred order near and far.
So when you glimpse the spiral’s grace,
Remember — there’s a loving trace,
A signature of life’s design,
Where earth and heaven intertwine.