| We thought it over for a century or two
|
| Considered all in light of such short history
|
| Would you let them loose upon the
|
| Stars? |
| Bring their dark and murky
|
| Waters to lap on pristine shores?
|
| Fine in their own place and with
|
| Their own destiny to follow
|
| But — breeding like rabbits on other
|
| Worlds and with other calmer spirits?
|
| Per errationes ad astra? |
| Then dream, dream
|
| On. |
| The dream is all. |
| All good sense gone
|
| Neil, Buzz, and Michael, they made a
|
| Team. |
| The right stuff in a can of spam
|
| The brave adventure came to nought
|
| Cruel economics had their say
|
| A tiny bubble of pure white light from mighty
|
| Engines roared on Pad 39A in the night
|
| Orbiters and Soyuz towered on
|
| Stacks of Lox and hydrogen
|
| But what a little squib, a little
|
| Firework in the cosmic crash of fiery
|
| Fusion as far galaxies collide:
|
| Drowned in the vastness of all we see
|
| And, still, can only just imagine
|
| Let’s not worry about the wandering
|
| Man. |
| He’ll wander hither if he can
|
| But his time may have already come. |
| And gone |