Sitting on my porch, looking at the harvest moon
I am old Wan-Hoo, who dreamed of reaching heaven
I am Armstrong, stepping off the ladder
I am a chiseled chin astronaut demigod
Making a triumphant return
Then she says: stop rocking so, old fool
Or you will fall off your chair
Author notes: Entering as we are the golden age of private space flight (or so I hope), thought of this little piece.
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