From a not - too- distant planet,
Is commendably intent
To study Earth, and what is on it.
And so, he trains his telescope
With uncommon great devotion,
To study, in mistaken hope
To see our continents and oceans.
But in this, his hopeful task,
He fails to find the right solution:
For his instrument, alas,
Has insufficient resolution.
And so, in spite of his concern,
His trusty sensor, from afar,
Cannot properly discern
Objects smaller than our cars...
And so with such a faulty view
Of our normal earthly ways,
His construct - which he thinks true-
Is not what he so confidently says.
He thinks the cars he sees have meaning
And he discovered earthly beings,
He's puzzled by what he thinks their antics,
And why they move in ways fantastic.
Each morning they seem so intense
And move about in packets dense,
After they leave their nightly spots
To congregate in parking lots.
The purpose of their daily travel
He cannot easily unravel,
But every once, he sees what seem
“Predators” cut one from the stream.
(What he sees are police cruisers,
Moving 'mong the rushing queue,
But or hapless fellow muses
If he had somehow missed a clue...)
Moral: A fantastic story
Do not readily accept,
For the teller, seeking glory,
May be just a tad inept...