They used to be a bunch of nine
Orbiting ´round the sun,
Though one of them was rather small
And fire, it had none,
Instead an icy, freezing shell
And an eccentric run.
“Why don´t you name it Pluto?”
I suggested to grandpa,
And after some discussion
On the planetary bar
They seemed to fancy what I said
So that was set so far.
Henceforth dear Pluto was an honorable
Member of the club,
Like Venus, Mars and Jupiter,
And it was never snobbed.
Those giants liked its funny ways
And all three moons it brought.
But then sly astronomers met
From hundred different nations
About the Kuiper Belt they tried
Some serious conversations
That ended in a hue and cry
Of all those delegations.
“Count Pluto out!”, screamed one of them,
“He is too wee to stay,
And Charon, Ceres, Xena; oh!
Those we must keep away,
To open floodgates to them all
We firmly must say `nay´!”
“Pluto has always been a planet”,
Yelled another one,
“How dare you change our history,
Traditions all-time long?
By sentiment and public meaning
Pluto´s myth grew strong!”
“Enough!”, said Doctor Jocelyn Bell,
Solution we must find,
Stop all this hassle and get back
To acuteness of mind!”
And finally `dwarf planet´ was
The grade that they did find.
That is the story how my fast friend
Made of rock and ice
Lost all its planetary status
In a game of dice,
Now when snow falls watch me shed tears
For Pluto´s fall and rise.
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