It's just as good as we expected -- warm,
A few degrees asynchronous at most,
And placid, spinning well below the norm
For outer space. We'll take it. Here's a toast
To second chances, odds that are unlikely
(A hundred billion apes to one), and stars
Aplenty. "Roger that," they'll say. "It's likely
We'll try again; we've got a lot of scars
We sanitized by pouring just a little
Terrestrial for our dead friends." I take
A shot, and set aside my noncommittal
Earth chauvinism: get what we can take,
I'm told; a booster rocket-ship from dust
To dust, from light to ash, from chrome to rust.
3 comments:
Hahaha, what the...?!
Did I accidentally stumble in on the process of sonneteering or?
Here's to a great one!
...ttfn
Not sure why that comment stuck to this post. Yeah, I accidentally published my notes instead of the poem. :)
Fascinating!
First, it is just as well you did accidentally publish that odd comment since it proved happy inspiration, only after a bit of a struggle, however.
As for this, wow, did NASA have something in the news recently or is this the familiar story of the robot saviour and just another angle? Methinks your year of sonnets compiled into a book would definitely prove a running theme. [We won't discuss mine.]
Thought-provoking with excellent imagery, I dislike your using "likely" for two endings but shall forgive you...this once. Is it another version of Frakenstein, only more capable? Very interesting. Happily that curious note brought me hither.
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