I am the quiet master of your inner climate, Tucked deep within the brain to keep you private. I tell you when to seek a bite, When you are thirsty, day or night. I drop your heat when fever burns, And track how every rhythm turns. A tiny gland beneath my floor Receives my orders, then does more.

I rest upon a single eye, Without a strap to hold me high. A golden rim, a single lens, A classic mark of gentlemen. I help you read or scrutinize, Yet cover only half your eyes.

A taxidermy animal head on a wall, Or a particularly beautiful wife, A shiny gold cup for being dead good at sports, All ways to show you've succeeded at life

I have a long arm but I cannot hug. I hold a heavy rock but I do not lift. I let it go with a sudden fling to hurl a boulder for the king.

I may drift through a melody, echo across a playing field, or rise from a boiling kettle.