Here's a little poetry for you all, courtesy of Stuart Atkinson.
T'was the night before Christmas and all across Mars
ine dust was blowing, dimming the stars
nd coating the rocks with a shimmer of red,
hile children of Earth, asleep in their beds,
reamed of soft martian winds wafting around
wo weary-wheeled rovers, making no sound;
n Victoria's slopes, tired and cold,
n Homeplate's steep edge, feeling so old,
oth felt they could sleep for a million long years...
xhausted and coated with dust from their gears
o the top of their masts they each took a moment
o look at the Earth, wondering if those
n the world of their birth were thinking of them
nd wishing them well, wondering if any were telling
heir children as their Moon shone near Mars
n the Christmas Eve sky: "Look, up there,
n that ruby-red light two rovers are clinging to life.
f Mars has a Santa he'll stand by their sides
nd wrap them up in his warm cloak;
rush dust from their backs, wipe clean their eyes,
nd make sure that when they awoke
n Barsoom's Christmas Day they'd be shiny and new
s the day blue Earth fell far behind..."
But on this night before Christmas all across Mars
nly fine dust is blowing, and as those cold stars
ook down on the rovers a rock in the sky
s tumbling towards them; it might pass Mars by
nd those weary-wheeled rovers
on't know it was there...
ut of six billion Earthlings,
ow many could care?
© Stuart Atkinson 2007
Many thanks and happy holidays to all of you who do care!