The Distance here from where I stand,
Is sixty-two miles to Lyndhurst
That's the same length you'd need to go,
To reach sub-orbital outer space.
I'll probably never get to space,
Chalk that with dashed dreams that come and go,
But I'm not going to Lyndhurst
So, things are alright from where I stand.
Still 62 miles is not that much,
For all there is to hold us in,
It's really just a shallow skin,
For something that sustains all life.
But if I wish to live my life,
Without goosebumps and crawling skin,
It's best to keep such thoughts tucked in.
And not dwell on the facts too much.
This atmosphere holds all we are,
A salad bowl's tight plastic wrap,
An endless cosmos just beyond,
Our three-bears paradise inside,
Yet, best to keep these thoughts inside,
And not give too much thought beyond,
Such things round which my mind can wrap,
Like Lyndhurst and where we are.
