Overlaid dusty brown plains,
Edged with ancient golden shorelines,
Tinged blue, shading to violet then to black,
And as the terminator crossed the landmass,
Those triangular structures,
Shimmered pink in the setting sun of Arcturus;
Classic signs of advanced intelligence,
Yet, this time was different,
For squares, rectangles and circles,
Had ostensibly been done to death;
Why do they use triangles, Grandad?
It’s not the most efficient way to do things,
But, to these beings,
Creativity and art clearly matters;
Is that a good thing?
Those worlds which displayed appreciation for abstract beauty,
Were the longest-living civilisations,
And had the highest probabilities for off-world exploration;
Though it appears they ran out of time in this case;
Come on, let’s go, Grandad,
Arcturus is dimming again;
There can’t be long left, now—
Perhaps we can watch the show.