Pity? Pity, stunted one,
The nauseous stars,
The eldritch vast
Of which your energies are a waste.
What cratered plain, senescent sun,
Or arid Mars
Has carnal strife
Deprived of beauty, age, or life?
Pity?! What's a cripple done
But dodge the cars?
Give up the mass!
The mass you keep from scion Space!
Child, run as I have run,
Just not as far's
I, who have come
To curse the step away from home.