Probe

A whisper of steel in the silent void,
A probe of night, where stars are employed.
It drifts beyond the amber glow of home,
Seeking the secrets that the cosmos comb.

From Jupiter’s sigh to Saturn’s rings,
It sends back data on electric wings.
Each pulse a question, each beam a clue,
Mapping the dark where mysteries brew.

Yet nearer still, in quiet wards,
A slender probe the flesh regards—
Gentle as a sigh, it threads the vein,
Listening to the heart’s refrain.

In laboratories, bright and stark,
It probes the cell, it leaves its mark—
A tip of glass, a drop of light,
Revealing life concealed from sight.

And in the mind of curious thought,
A probing question, keenly wrought,
Seeks truth beneath the surface sheen,
Where shadows linger, unseen, unseen.

So be it cosmic, clinical, or keen,
The probe persists—a bridge between
The known and what awaits to be found,
A quiet seeker, safe and sound.