Doug beat me to it, but here's my effort!
T’was the night before Christmas and all across Mars
fine dust was blowing, dimming the stars
and coating the rocks with a shimmer of red,
while UMSFers, asleep in their beds,
dreamed of soft martian winds wafting around
two weary-wheeled rovers, making no sound;
on Victoria’s slopes, tired and cold,
on Homeplate’s steep edge, feeling so old,
both felt they could sleep for a million long years…
Exhausted and coated with dust from their gears
to the top of their masts they each took a moment
to look at the Earth, wondering if those
on the world of their birth were thinking of them
and wishing them well, wondering if any were telling
their children as their Moon shone near Mars
in the Christmas Eve sky: “Look, up there,
on that ruby-red light two rovers are clinging to life.
If Mars has a Santa he’ll stand by their sides
and wrap them up in his warm cloak;
brush dust from their backs, wipe clean their eyes,
and make sure that when they awoke
on Barsoom’s Christmas Day they’d be shiny and new
as the day blue Earth fell far behind…”
But on this night before Christmas all across Mars
only fine dust is blowing, and as those cold stars
look down on the rovers a rock in the sky
is tumbling towards them; it might pass Mars by
and those weary-wheeled rovers
won’t know it was there…
Out of six billion Earthlings,
how many could care?
© Stuart Atkinson 2007
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