Liver

In the quiet hush beneath the ribs,
A dark‑red organ hums its steady song—
The liver, Britain’s stoic chemist,
Filters life’s broth with patient, tireless grace.

It holds the amber tide of blood,
Converts the feast to glycogen’s sweet store,
Breaks down the toxins that we sow,
And gifts the body vigor evermore.

When joy erupts in laughter’s bright peal,
When sorrow drapes a sober veil,
It balances the scales, unseen, unfelt—
A silent sentinel, steadfast and frail.

So raise a toast, not to the glass,
But to the lobe that works unseen—
The liver, our internal hearth,
Where metabolism’s quiet dreams convene.