There's rain falling on the dull rock, Systems on the low; asleep, dark, Fast moving stations continue to dock, Twinkling through the wet glass; the spaceships park,
Deafening pitters and patters Echo through illuminated White hallways, void of usual chatters, Panels and switches; all stamped and dated,
A human sitting in the loading bay, Cold dim fingers dragging along dim sky Elated by that light ballet, Wandering, loftily and sly.
Then the jolting hatch systems goes, And the hissing airlock, it too, Tentative eyes watch as it slows, Imagining the lights they knew,
Up there repeated memories play out, Ones that meant it all; on visions they float, Reminders of their starry bout, Reminders of their last love note,
Thoughts of the escape they searched for, Thoughts of soulful regret they faced, Those lingering visions of home they saw, That they eventually raced.
Air you might breathe on a tether, Is nothing; lest you feel home's harsh weather.