The path ahead looked black
No light came from outside
There was no turning back
The abyss ahead seemed wide

Whether he was on the right track
Wasn’t for him to decide
He’d wandered from the pack
Now there was nowhere to hide

For strange things he had a knack
With no time left to bide
Days long gone of surviving attack
Alone at the altar; he was the bride

Friends and loved ones he didn’t lack
Yet all alone he had to ride
There was no scope to slack
No rules by which to abide

Suffocated in a sack
In the darkness he cried
His last meal; upon a rack
The night before he died

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Apoptosis, or programmed cell death, happens in us every second of our lives; yet we fail to recognize its importance in the smooth functioning of our body. Let every cell die a heroic death!