The cells that make up all our living forms 
Have senses of their own, beyond our ken 
They feel the light that through their membranes warms 
And shapes their fluid fate with unseen pen 

They do not know the names we give to things 
The molecules, the atoms, and the genes 
They only know the joy that movement brings 
And how to dance along the flowing streams 

But sometimes they encounter something strange 
A signal or a substance out of place 
That makes them pause and wonder and exchange 
A puzzled look upon their tiny face 

And then they glow with curiosity And probe the source of luminous viscosity.

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