Dragged and squeezed by your neighbors,
you lost the cool countenance
still worn by your big siblings.
Instead you live!
Donating plasma to the void,
painting in outlandish reds and oranges,
never settling on one look for long.
Four hundred years after your debut
you still impress your fans,
some plan to swing by fair Europa
when it's you they hope to see
when off to work they go.
It was said that your namesake
was comforted by Prometheus
after Hera found you hidden in
a cloud of Zeus' making.
Is that why you act as you do,
using Prometheus' gift
to make a cloud of your own?
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