Someday I’ll find someone from some place
Faraway. But perhaps I will never
Meet anyone from another planet,
Not ever. We’ll never know fruitful truth
Because no one will tell us anything.
Nothing ever changes here amongst you,
Me and the distant tree leaves hanging low.
There are no fragrances crossing these seas,
Nor Ulysses, nor Nicéan platoons
Bearing a weary way-worn wanderer.
In comfort I smell the moist earth and lie
About the grass, searching the misted sky
And the stars turning like a wheel of eyes.
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