ode on a martian urn

Here is a rather gloomy poem about Mars as we currently know it thanks to modern science. It brings up the subject of time, leading one to wonder if there is nobody around to pass the time, is the time really there? I'm sure Liebniz or Einstein would have some input on that one, but it's neat to think about. I'm not sure I agree with the poet that there's "nothing to explore." Unless this is sort of a Schroedinger's cat situation--if there's nobody there to explore, is it really there? Hmmmmmmmmm. Does a rover count?