Irony

Could we with ink the ocean fill
And were the skies of parchment made
Were every stalk on earth a quill
And every man a scribe by trade

To write the love of God above
Would drain the ocean dry
Nor could the scroll contain the whole
Though stretched from sky to sky

I got that poem from Yvonne's blog. She's an amazing writer/journalist. Her blog posts will shrink any ego and make one's vocab like a bottle of water floating in a vast sea.

Life's an irony because we human's are intrinsically corrupt.
Yet we refuse to admit to this simple fact
And make countless attempts to rectify this incorrigible problem
Which inevitably turns around and bites us in the backside.
Irony.

My first lecture back at Uni was on eicosanoids. What are they? See if you can figure them out.