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Ode to the Phoenix Mars Lander

In your last dying throes/observed that it snows

ollow the water' they told you,
and rocketed you out there alone.
'You'll comb the terrain,
for snow, ice, or rain,
and we'll grock what you see back at home.'

More than seven-score days since they sent you,
shoveling months in dark, frigid cold.
Yet true to your name,
the Phoenix's flame
burned far longer than NASA foretold.

You dug, sniffed and scooped all around you,
confirmed the presence of ice.
In your last dying throes,
observed that it snows,
(and the photos you sent home were all nice.)

Now the Sun's rays hardly can reach you,
(Winter nights are a bitch at the poles).
The signal's gone dead,
though it's news we all dread,
we'll remember those fine Martian strolls.

Mars' cold, dusky skies all around you,
functions all frozen and ceased.
Though now you're stopped cold,
the data's still gold
and less useless than other Twitter users, at least. ®

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