At the root of every whisker in the old man's beard,
Replication, of unique DNA, I've heard,

Is occurring, all day long, in the cells concerned,
Billions of nucleotides long, I've learned,

It's difficult to imagine messenger RNA
Helping shuttle protein molecules, every which way,

When the chain is complete, the cell divides,
Then the process starts anew and the whole hair slides

Out into the world -- continues even after death
Has stopped all other functions, such as heartbeat and breath,

Then by early next morning, new DNA-filled cells
By the thousand, each containing the map of where it dwells,

Will meet their Grim Reaper when the old man shaves,
Thus the fate of every copy from the cradle to the grave.

                                                        by D. Edgar Murray