Sunday, March 06, 2005

Lament of the Cells, on the Hydrogenosomes' Day Off

Pharyngula: Hydrogenosomes

Soldiers forgotten, aimless we stand
(autumn's last bulrush; last kipper canned);
waiting for April; dreaming of salt
Hops in the bucket, longing for malt.

Logs at the wood-lathe, lying uncarved
Cells in the slush-pile, energy-starved.
One lacks a chisel; one wants for juice
(Give me triphosphates, or give me the noose!)

Freedom or curtains, that's fine for the French
(They haven't languished, warming the bench;
Watching Apollo ascend overhead
Chariot blazing, orange and red.)

Something's gone missing--what could it be?
(Lacking for eyes, it's too dark to see.)
Boredom runs rampant; there's nothing to do.
Organelle legions, we're waiting for you.

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