The Rime of the Ancient Astronaut

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                     The Rime of the Ancient Astronaut

It was an ancient astronaut,
he stepped lightly from a tree,
to ask an earthly scientist,
who had lately had his tea,
to help fix his astral engine,
for he had forgot its key.
“Why ask me? Are you some kind of loon?”
said the earthly scientist.
“No, but unless I find my key,
I will never play my tune,”
replied the ancient astronaut,
his face white, cratered, like the moon.
“Tell me, ancient astronaut,
what’s it like, out there, in space?”
asked the earthly scientist,
lines of interest on his face.
“Space is very vast and empty,
and no solid shapes are seen,
but there is lots of air out there,
and all of it is clean,”
answered the ancient astronaut,
who beamed, like a sun lit bean.
“Why do you travel on so far,
in so much void and distant stone,
seemingly so solitary,
and so obviously alone?”
asked the earthly scientist,
his skin thin upon the bone.
“I map the cosmic pyramid
from its root to its cone,”
answered the ancient astronaut,
in a stern but solar tone.
“Why have you come and landed here?
It now dawns how strange we meet.
You are an ancient astronaut,
not a stranger on the street.
If I informed the newspapers,
they’d pay money to my bank.
I’d be rich enough to retire,
and I’d have you to thank,”
said the earthly scientist,
who was otherwise quite blank.
“I came to mend my astral wheel,
but I’ve lost my first light key,”
said the ancient astronaut,
as politely as could be.
Then in the pattern of his palm,
saw the imprint of his key.
Laughter relief after alarm,
flittered in him, like a bee.
“So sorry for disturbing you,
seems I had it all the time.
I must fly off and go away,
in lemon hues and lime,”
said the ancient astronaut,
and stepped back behind the tree,
leaving the earthly scientist,
to wonder what next would be.

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