Deep beneath a subtle glance
upon the skin, or upon the plants,
there lies a secret universe-
this land of sorrow, of romance,
where wiggly creatures all rehearse
the never ending microbe dance.

Gathering into their little mobs,
they wage tiny wars, and work tiny jobs-
they test their tiny roars and sobs
in tune to a timeless, wordless song.
This dance will ransom what time it robs,
so says the cells: it won’t be long
‘til they jiggle into jelly globs.

But dancing is older than they know,
and the song of change is slow.
As its structure starts to grow,
movements within these micro-nations
pretty soon will start to show
longer and wider variations
as symptoms of some new mutations-
on and on this dance will go.