The natives think I walk on water
So I've got a trick that's neat,
Lifting up his coverall to show
Hover pads strapped to his feet.
Ensign Able Abel One, Adviser,
Assistant, Cultural, Pan Galactic
Guardianship, Exploratory Branch
Running this little planet like
A homeland breeding ranch:
On a spiral of an outer galaxy
Near creation's current outer reach
There to observe the sentients,
To watch but not to teach.
On their watery blue planet,
They all called mother earth
(His thirty seventh so called
For what a name is worth),
He guarded and he guided
Recording their each advance
Judging, was it evolution?
Or was it pure blind chance.
Ensign Abel Able One, member
Of a more than ancient race
Very carefully adjusted
The visor on his face,
Then out into the sunlight
To mingle with the folk
And may be walk on water,
One of his many little jokes
To try and ease the boredom,
Aware of the exciting chance
He may be there to observe
Any sudden dramatic advance
To signify this planet can evolve
Sufficiently for it's folk to enter
With the rulers of the universe
There at creation's very centre.
