The Million year picnic

From page 1, the nights have been different, and the cool winds too.
Somehow people meet, yet remain strangers through.

But your stories are still living, breathing dreams to many.
Each night they’re falling asleep, to a wonderful metaphor, traveling and fantasy.

Tonight the world over, is paying its due.
And strangers become friends, thanks to you.

Tonight soft rains are pouring down my cheek.
For you’ve just entered, the million year picnic.

And if we are to colonize, beyond our foolishness,
Let us learn from our own, very down to earth mistakes.
And as a symbol of some understanding, let’s name the first library there,
After your name sir, Raymond Bradbury.

 

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