I wonder if, hand to stubbled jaw,
When they the pictures in the paper saw,
Of the moon, to which man had just been,
Of which the likes before was never seen,
By anyone, least of all folks from these wild rural hills,
Who knew but sport and drink and dancing for thrills,
Who come from a landscape lunar to the strangers eye
Folk like me, outsiders, who look and wonder as we pass by
What did they think of those photos where astronauts did roam?
Did they say “That looks a lot like home!”?