The machines do not run us.
We are responsible for;
And Flaura and Fauna.
Sparkly flowers may be intelligent,
As the case may be.
We may have to look after the galaxy next door,
We hope they are thinking the same.
Smells orange, like wheat, like oxygen like,
Slippers when you need them, black boxes are always recovered.
We can love the machine, pilots die too, just
Don’t call them machines.
It landed on Europa,
Drilled and found life.
Humanity was never more thrilled.
-short evocative poetry-