Quark

The Quark’s Lament

In the quiet heart of the atom’s core,
A restless sprite of energy does roar.
It jumps between worlds of strange contrariness,
Three flavours, each with its own caress.

Colour‑charged, it carries a silent load,
A twin‑tied bond in a magnetic ode.
“Colour” not paint, but the force that holds,
The quarks within the proton, tight as gold.

Between “up” and “down,” the quark takes its flight,
Spins like a record, spinning into night.
Its mass is small, its reach is vast,
Binding the centre of the nucleus, steadfast.

The ponderous “sea” of gluons swirls around,
A sea of force that lifts and bounds.
The quark’s breath, a fleeting whisper,
Speaks in units of the compact universe.

So when you look upon the world in bold,
Remember the quark’s quiet, subtle hold.
It is the engine of matter’s tale,
Beholding the cosmic test, with barely a scale.