The day will come when men will leave the earth
and put behind the things that they have made.
No longer will they have their place of birth.
The stars are where their children will then play.

The poets of that future, they will gaze
up at a sky that we will never know,
alight with constellations out of place,
but will they see their old ancestral home?

That tiny point of light up in their sky,
will it still have the power to inspire?
Can light reflect emotion and then drive
imaginations to creative fire?

When we, right now, tilt back our heads at night,
are we inspired by someone else's light?

©2006 Scott Cramer </copyright>