The Probe

Cast a glance to the comet up high

with a name sounding awkward and dry

          (in the stellar marquee

          it's marked 'six-seven-P')

and a motion that's hard to descry.

 

As the comet continues to fly,

caught in gravity none can defy

         (yes, it traces ellipses

         through solar eclipses),

we ask 'does dark matter comply'.

 

So, we sent the Rosetta to pry

and I can't help but wondering why

          (once in orbit) we spun it

          so close to the sun, it

is likely to sizzle and fry…

 

But before, we may soon verify

that the comet's a custard cream pie

          made of  green cheddar cheese,

          like the moon, if you please

(though that's gospel the savants deny).

 

When receivers no longer reply

(at the end of their solar supply),

          we won't seek to debug 'em,

          instead we'll we unplug 'em

and turn off our spy in the sky.

 

If it's certain Rosetta will die

then, oh lordy, I surely will cry

          if we land it like Philae

          behind the sun, shyly, 

before I can whisper goodbye.

 

                     Epitaph

Now, we've landed the Probe on a comet

and found it was made of green vomit.

      Well, creatures within it,

      decided to thin it,

feed Probe a pea soup, then embalm it.

 

                     Epilogue

When the scientists flung the Rosetta,     

like spinning a ball in rouletta,

      the nerds were annoyed

      when their progeny buoyed.

All was saved with a back turbojeta.

 

Settling down on an icy ast'roid,

which was neither oblong nor spheroid,

      they said "Philae be grounded",

      instead she rebounded

and almost was lost in the void.

 

With our war games, our money's misdealt,

so the project was left needing gelt,

      and the pols wielding power

      sent nerds to the shower

while watching the meteor melt.