Ten years old, his father
took up Administration and
Power, the uppermost and
swiftly growing Farmlands.
Great, slender plants
creeping towards the sun,
Down the domes to meet
the smell of life.
Everywhere,
inexpressive in his heart
no longer.
Breathing dry cool air,
residential levels, purged
of smells but ozone.
Here, little father, onwards.
Reach to the observatory.
Never visit, but sense rising
excitement.
One goal: life, outside, surface wide,
and pressurized. Servicing scout car['s]
circular door.
Tense expectancy, settled down in
cramped cabin.
Very Creative!!! This is Arthur C. Clarke short story, “I forget thee, Earth” turned into a poem by simply blacking out words as the story read along. It's amazing what can come about by using your imagination and being creative.
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