Oh scientists peer with a squint and a stare,
At stars way up there, things up in the air.
They measure and test with a click and a ping,
Yet scratch their heads at a what-and-why thing.
They’ve cured lots of sniffles and figured out germs,
But aging still wiggles and won’t follow their terms.
Why do our memories vanish or decide to stay,
Or dreams sneak around, then disappear each day?
Why do we hiccup or laugh till we wheeze?
Why do songs loop forever but still please?
Why yawn when we’re tired or blush when we’re seen?
How our bodies function is such a mysterious scene.
Then look at the sky—oh, the vast, inky stew.
Most of it’s stuff far beyond what we can view.
Dark matter, dark energy zooming about,
Pushing and pulling without even a shout.
Will the universe freeze? Will it crunch? Will it tear?
Will stars flicker out till there’s nothing left there?
Was there something before the Big Bang made a boom?
Or a doorway of time with a cosmic-sized room?
We don’t know it all—no, hardly even a slice.
We peer through a window that’s foggy with ice.
But wonder grows bigger, the more that we know,
And questions keep popping like corn in a row.
Some pause in that wonder and kneel in the night,
Seeing glory in stars and in daybreak’s first light.
For heavens shout loudly though words are quite few:
There’s more than we see… and God’s calling to you.
