Aqueous humor, clear and bright, A fluid born of silent light, It fills the space where visions soar, Between the cornea and lens’s core.
From the ciliary body’s well, A crucial role, it knows so well— To nourish, cleanse, and pressure keep, Within the eye, where secrets sleep.
It bathes the lens, the iris near, In chambers deep, it crystal-clear, With silent grace it makes its way, Ensuring sight with each new day.
A task of light, it bends the beams, To sharpen life’s most fleeting dreams, And in the meshwork’s grasp, it flows, Through Schlemm’s canal, where no one knows.
But if its path should ever stall, A pressure rises, shadows fall, A warning sign, a call to care, For vision’s loss lurks unaware.
Yet in its flow, so pure and bright, It guards the gift of perfect sight, Aqueous humor, unseen guide, Protecting all from harm inside.
So let it flow, a steady stream, Through chambers where reflections gleam, For in its dance, the eye prevails, And through its work, our vision sails.
