My mathematics with you: A poem 

If only I had a clear vision of your version; 

all the complicated multiplication and division, 

then the infinite numbers of my seeking soul 

would fit exactly and precisely in your bowl 

I am enthused by the fact that the pain begets wisdom 

though, to the ordinary eye, it may seem like masochism  

Yes, I know that it always takes a while to solve a problem 

It can seem like there is always some niggling quotient 

Does a weary bird continue to fly high in the sky? 

Does it ever ask the taskmaster what and why? 

The geometry in the hope of travail is always right angled 

It flops to base, then aims upward with determination single 

I may not perceive, in the journey, the sum of it all 

But I figure that you may have already guessed the total 

I believe fate has an arithmetic not ending in mayhem 

So, I raise my beleaguered flag and bebop your anthem