The Pale Blue Dot

Grasses, as they sound, whooshing in the winds, the grains, and the bales aside shores vast to scale the oceans huge, the briskly calls off the cliffs and narrow runways through mounts huge and deep and snows lit on sun-days the meadows carry on through rocks they cut wide the plateaus, and hilly forts above the vastly empty oceans that is the pale Blue Dot carrying all the unheard questions The larger quests that end in all ways, the high ways, that carry evil and good alike walkers born, and stay, and stride past the death strikes The ones atop, the puppets of the green the worshippers and the preachers the saints all the dreamers to live the curses and the cursed of mind and it's tributes to sing lagoons of joy and cultures to celebrate existence on a glitch of scale worries of life cut short that resides and sketches the pale Blue Dot suspended in the sunbeam stretches