Poetry… The Lymphocyte

The LYMPHOCYTE is small and round,
And innocent of face,
Wich is extremely handy
For a cell that circulates.

Its size and shape allow our friend
The LYMPHOCYTE to squeeze
Through tissue spaces, nodes and spleen,
And small capillaries.

Into every nook and crevice
It wanders with its peers,
Its life is long; the LYMPHOCYTE
Can live for months, or years.

But when it meets a foreigner –
An antigen or graft –
The LYMPHOCYTE discards its cool
And goes completely daft.

It grows, expands, unfolds, “turns on”.
An even (so the say)
Prepares itself for fission
By making DNA.

The LYMPHOCYTE, that seemed so meek
Goes all the way to Hell,
And transforms to a flaming

Barbara Bain


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