Since we are here to scan the vasty sky
With instruments like Hubble’s telescope,
We see the odds are infinitely high
That we shall realize our fondest hope—
That we are not alone; although the odds
Of making contact with some aliens,
Who might from our perspective seem like gods,
Are slim, we would be glad for cosmic friends.
Homo questor we might be better named
Since we’re more seeker than we’re sapient
And have done much for which we’re rightly blamed
Yet we’re still yearning for enlightenment,
And hence we deeply probe the far-off stars
Leaving behind our worshipping of Mars.