Granite Nardieu

Whose belts these are I think I know.
His base is in Cistuvaert though;
He will not see me warping here
To watch them tumble dark and slow.

My mining chief must think it queer
To stop without a hauler near;
Between a star and frozen dust,
The firmament so bright and clear.

He calls and wonders why we must
Delay our course to harvest crust;
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of solar wind and engines thrust.

The asteroids are dark and deep.
But I have contracts I must keep,
And belts to mine before I sleep,
And belts to mine before I sleep.



--with respects to Robert Frost