The placenta is a special place
A disk-like installation
It means “flat cake”
It can’t be faked
Except in Science Fiction.

Derived from not-so special cells
Early in development
It builds a sack
Prevents attack
And handles all procurement.

The chorionic villi too
Have their special purpose
They flesh us out,
And flush us out
Thank God they’re semi-porous!

Bathed in drops of mother’s blood
The villi set the rules
For passing gas
Increasing mass
And grabbing molecules.

Up and down umbilicus
All this stuff is flowing
The baby grows
And never knows
How this organ keeps it going

Lasting all through 9 long months
The placenta stays the course
A final push
It all goes squoosh
And no-one shows remorse.

Come let us sing placental praise
For despite the many ouches,
Without it we’d be laying eggs
Or growing kids in pouches!

-- August 2006