Thursday, April 23, 2015


               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.