I learned the truth at seventeen
That Asimov and Bradbury
and Clarke were alphabetically
my very perfect A-B-C
While Algernon ran every maze,
and slow glass hurt my heart for days,
I sat and played a sweet guitar
and Martians grokked me from afar

Odd John was my only friend
among the clocks and Ticktockmen,
while Anne Mccaffrey’s dragons roared
above the skies of Majipoor
Bukharan winds blew cold and sharp
and whispered to my secret heart
“You are no more alone
“Welcome home”

Tribbles came, and triffids went
Time got wrinkled, then got spent
Kirinyaga’s spirits soared,
and Turtledove re-wrote a war
While Scanners searched, and loved in vain,
Hal Nine Thousand went insane,
and Brother Francis had an ass
whose wit and wile were unsurpassed

Every story I would read
became my private history,
as Zenna’s People learned to fly,
and Rachel loved until I cried
I spent a night at Whileaway,
then Houston called me just to say
“You are no more alone,
“so welcome home”

Who dreams a positronic man?
Who speaks of mist, and grass, and sand?
Of stranger station’s silent tombs?
Of speech that sounds in silent rooms?
Who waters deserts with their tears?
Who sees the stars each thousand years?
Who dreams the dreams for kids like me,
Whose only home is fantasy?

Let’s drink a toast to ugly chickens,
Marley’s ghost, and Ender Wiggins
Every mother’s son of you,
and all your darling daughters, too
When the aliens finally come,
we’ll say to each and every one
“You are no more alone,
“so welcome home
“Welcome home”