Questions. Poem by Bryan Sefton

They point their telescopes at the sky
And gaze into the celestial face
And see with their all seeing eye
Cosmic wastes and wasted space
Super Novas burn about
Black holes turning inside out
And always there's the nagging doubt
That God is playing games

They point their microscopes at the core
And go into and gaze upon
Sights hereto unseen before
And minds go giddy, minds go numb
For here's the same infinity
That the telescope had let them see
Lying in a mouldy price of brie
And the questions still remain

But deep in the Australian bush
Beneath the nights star spangled sky
Contemplating all alone
With his minds all seeing eye
Sits a lone Aborigine
With his hand upon his knee
Knowing with a certainty