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,
with their own destiny to follow,
but breeding like rabbits on other worlds
and with other calmer spirits?
Araratione sed estra, them dream dream on,
the dream is all,
all good sense gone.
Neil, Buzz and Michael, they made a team,
the right stuff in a pan of spam.
The brave adventure came to naught,
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 locks 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 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.