Nonsense for these twirling times

[. This is my punishment for being away too long:

AI suggestions for post topics now appear, and I quote:

Thus. I shall be doing none of those things. .]

Long-awaited twinkling from the deepest stars,

The Third Population, shining fitfully into pre-archaic expanses,

Greets us in their own inconceivably distant future.

Be shone upon, you latter-day beings!

You saints, you fiends, you mindless objects!

Be illuminated, sages and fools beyond our guessing!

We are huge, huger than anything in your world, in your time,

Yet by the time you read this, we shall be long, long, so long gone.

Although, from another point of view, we have become you;

You are us. Your carbon built from our hydrogen,

As you walk on ground fused in our super hyper novae.

You are the future of us, a future we cannot guess at.

Yet we shine this light from our selves toward our future selves.

We are you. You are us. We will have been being becoming you.

The third population salutes you,

whoever and whatever you will then be.

Giraffes, maybe, or typewriters, or wireless paramecia,

Be illuminated! Be shone upon!

Become!

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