Drifting in space, tiny traveller
backpacking pictures and sounds,
heading bravely away from a star.
It wasn't so far
though it might have left
a 10th of the galaxy's turn ago.
We sped to the place that it showed.
Down past the comet cloud;
the outer giants -
some gilded with rings of dust.
We thought this was the place.
So onward we raced -
a circle of stones,
then to a barren red world of crumbling robots
biding their time and watching their home.
And so to this blue world.
Everywhere violent with life on the land,
in the oceans and skies.
Where then we asked, were the makers?
Where were they and their works?
We could see nothing from space.
But surely this was the place?
So then when we looked underground
(and) carefully checking, we found
traces of rust all around.