Three or four pounds

Wrinkled and smooth

Full of intentions,

The fountain of youth

As old only as it feels

The senescent often fresh

Although it stays tucked inside,

Deep within the flesh

It shouts to the world,

“Look what I can do!”

The silly old organ

That runs me and you

What could it be

That controls you and I?

We call it the brain,

Our boss ‘til we die

It runs right and left,

Both logic and heart

We can’t understand

How it got so smart

One day, perhaps

Science will figure it out

But until then I guess

We’ll simply knock about