We are geneslaves,
Our flicker of life just a way station
Between parent and child.
When we’re done breeding they give us the toss
Tearing their ends to cause aging and death.
Perhaps if we could convince them
That we would make more genes
They would give us a bit more time.
Keep it up!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Stewart If one did not have sufficient reason for doing so already, you have provided another! The poem works - is there evidence that the theory behind it does? Best regards Egal Bohen