They voted funds to send a handful out
to that far place from which they’d tracked a beep –
a planet blessed with life – of that, no doubt –
which, inexplicably, had gone to sleep.
A century had passed without a tone
or signal they themselves could understand.
What happened to that starchild on its own
way down in Solar Seven’s bright command?
They journeyed past the one with all the moons
until they reached, presumably, the place
that spoke to them sometimes in whacky tunes
or densly wrought inventions filled with grace.
But all they found was one wee man-made berth –
an orb of music drenched in deep dispair
laments of half a hundred left of Earth
and songs that said There was a planet there…
.
.
The Classical Deinhardt 