Mark (mhaithaca) wrote,
Mark
mhaithaca

The arching sky is calling spacemen back to their trade
All hands! Stand by! Free falling!
And the lights below us fade.
Out ride the sons of Terra, far drives the thundering jet,
Out leaps the race Earthmen,
Out far and onward yet.

We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth,
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies,
And the cool, green hills of Earth.

We've sailed the endless vacuum, seen many wondrous things
From the harsh bright soil of Luna to Saturn's rainbow rings.
We've tried each spinning space mote, and reckoned its true worth;
Take us back again to the homes of men and the cool, green hills of Earth.

My final watch is over, my travels nearing their end
And my only wish is to feel home soil beneath me once again.
Let the sweet fresh breezes heal me as they rove around the girth
Of our lovely mother planet of the cool green hills of Earth.

We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth,
Let us rest our eyes on the fleecy skies,
And the cool, green hills of Earth.

-- Rhysling

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