Sol has navigated the heavens majestically
Through all eyes which view it domestically.
But traversing in royal gyral around Mutter’s Spiral
Exposes the portrait of its rudimentary fortress.
The Rocks of Sol are thus the same
But are still worthy to know by name.
For some may provide conceivable assistance
To continue the preservation of organic existence.
The Winged Messenger takes its flight
Oh too close to the great source of light.
The Bringer of Peace is loving and sweet
But body of passion brings with it heat.
The Bringer of Life, and its artificial strife,
Is the only home known for us to safely roam.
The Bringer of War, long red and dead,
Is the destined sandbox for us to tread.
The Bringer of Jollity, the first of the Giants,
Shapes crescents of prospective alliance.
Likewise with the Bringer of Old Age
Displaying rings of wisdom center stage.
The Magician had tricked the other Rocks
For being incapable to take upright walks.
And The Mystic, being distanced and cold, yet ominous,
Abstains much chance of ever becoming populous.
One must not overlook, nevertheless, that Sol’s Eight
Exist inside an empty sea of endless weight.
The place of the Third Rock within it may never be known
But it need not cease appreciation of what it owns.