quaver,
Of a god unreal we ask what cannot be: Grant afterlife. Just for a month. For him.
He built his rockets while the zeppelins flew And worked as many years as Moses wandered To teach the promise of a world still new, A shining land not barred by seraphim, A shore that we may touch as well as see Where in a month men will at last have landed. We wish what we cannot believe: that we Live past our death. Just for a month. For him.
Now the moon waxes broad above that crew Who will, as next the sun lights Alphonse
Crater,
Send back a month too late the Pisgah view He earned so well, missed by a span so slim. Of what he taught us they would touch and see.
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