By: D. Rudd-Mitchell
1,
Strange,
all that way,
All those years ago
and the most wonderful sight,
from that grey desert moon,
Was this Earth.
2,
We marvel at Galileo’s gallery
Cosmos’ lustre; twirls of tied dyed light and dust.
Artists palettes; mixed by time,
That nature never meant for us.
3
This Earth,
This whirled Sahara gold,
azure and cesarean blue,
Emerald green, artic white and gaseous hue
This brightness in the dark that beckons us to stay.
This house of light; beacon of hope, for those who stray,
The moon is a canvas too, unused, a lifeless page: a crust.
And yet, our Eden, can not quell our wanderlust.
D. Rudd-Mitchell is an occasional poet who has been published in magazines, anthologies and had work broadcast on radio and podcasts.