The Blue Marble showed swirling mists
No border lines,
No military fences were to be seen.
On the day of the end,
When we go up into the space
And the satellites report back images
Of dust, rubble and destruction,
I’ll be waiting at the end of the rainbow,
Where the pot of gold has long been stolen,
But if you hurry, we can sit together
And look up at the last of the singing sky
Marveling at how perfectly incandescently happy
We all could have been.