Sci Fi Saturday: The Rescuers

"You're all that's left, I think," the being said,
Surveying that small band, that helpless lot
Of wordless humans. One just scratched his head.
The rest just stared. "Oh, that's right, I forgot --
You don't use language anymore, poor dears!"
It held out some bananas and a hunk
Of juicy pork, to overcome their fears
But they persisted rooting through the junk
Left by their ancestors, the ones who'd made
A trash heap of their planet. "Very well,"
The being said. "The sleeping gas, then. Trade
Won't work. Go on, my partners, and please tell
Command we'll have to run another class
Through re-civlization. Hope they pass!"

Sci Fi Saturday: An Epitaph

"This child within my womb, when she is grown
Will know experiences quite beyond
Our species up 'til now. We've made our own
Into a race of spacefarers! We've spawned
At last a generation who'll survive
Outside an atmosphere, who do not need
To fight the tug of gravity to thrive.
Hail xenogenesis! I do not heed
Those warnings that the species gap we've made
Will hinder understanding; we must teach
These beings that they're us, is all. I've stayed
Too long, now; she is coming!" - this last speech
Is charmingly naive. Our parent race
Did not survive our birth. This we must face.