Or is the cosmos also home?
Scanning skies with outstretched hand.
Crusoe on his island, a lonely searching soul,
Gazing at the stars with wonder.
Happisburgh whispers secrets, of giants from the past,
No alien footprint lingers, on this shore whereon we roam,
On this mote of dust we stand,
From ants to giants, all leave a trace,
This pale dot, a mote of dust, adrift, with naught to hear?
But cosmic visitors? Unsurpassed.
Stumbled on a footprint, a story yet untold.
A mark upon the sand, a whisper in the breeze,
Eve's delicate impression, a testament to time,
Are we truly lonely, on this blue marble sphere?
Are we the only story, whispered back to home?
But where's the mark of otherworldly grace?
Are we the only ones who roam?
Dinosaurs' tracks from eons past,
Proof of another presence, carried on the seas.
Of ancestors who walked this Earth, beneath a different clime.
On this blue sphere where life is spread?
We search for signs, but find no more.
In the quiet of the night we ponder,
Moon-dusted boots still linger there,
Are we the only ones to tread,
Their footprints etched in stone, forever meant to last.
Like Crusoe on his island shore,
While Mars rovers tread with mechanical flair.