Floating on a field of time On galaxies that brew, Sculpted from the nebula, The likes of me and you. Specks of carbon dust condense To form our leading edge, We ride a spinning sphere of rock Clinging to the ledge. Engaging other travelers bound, We jockey for a seat; Then take our place among the few Who travel in our fleet. Constrained within the confines of The limit of our view, We soar the archways of the sky Until our flight is through. In the void of never-land Where mystery holds no clue, Sculpted from the nebula, The likes of me and you.