Let the sweet fresh breezes heal me
As they rove around the girth
Of our lovely mother planet
Of the cool, green hills of Earth.
We rot in the moulds of Venus,
We retch at her tainted breath.
Foul are her flooded jungles,
Crawling with unclean death.
We've tried each spinning space mote
And reckoned its true worth:
Take us back again to the homes of men
On the cool, green hills of Earth.
The arching sky is calling
Spacemen back to their trade.
ALL HANDS! STAND BY! FREE FALLING!
And the lights below us fade.
Out ride the sons of Terra,
Far drives the thundering jet,
Up leaps a race of Earthmen,
Out, far, and onward yet ---
We pray for one last landing
On the globe that gave us birth;
Let us rest our eyes on the friendly skies
And the cool, green hills of Earth.
-- The Wondering Minstrels: The Green Hills of Earth -- Robert A Heinlein
Posted by gerardvanderleun at January 10, 2014 11:55 AMTo get an idea of what it takes to go so far -- the yearning, the heart-breaking, the heart-mending, read the short story at strangehorizons.com, 'The Man Who Lost the Sea,' by Theodore Sturgeon.
Speak the last few words of the short story each night before you sleep, to enter the home of the brave.
Nice use of poetry/music/video.
Really hits the spot.
Posted by: cond0011 at January 12, 2014 7:34 AM
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