When it fell upon its head
We gave it up for dead
And we hadn’t heard peep or nuthin’ from it.
But after eight months winter’s break,
Philae is awake!—
Cuz spring’s at last arrived upon its comet.
It may be 34 below
And prob’ly chance of snow,
But light is shining bright upon its panels;
And under comet-summer sun,
By the time that probe is done,
We’ll have reams and reams of cometary annals.
Information may be rife
On the origin of life—
Why, beings may already walk the comet!
Then when sunny days have passed
And Philae’s dead at last…
I’m sure the comet-folk there will embalm it.
—Too Sunny, Guys