Her central planet's rings are thin,
Not those that Saturn grace.
No storms (to Voyager's chagrin)
like those upon Jove's face.
None of her siblings have any air
Seen in data or math
And humans may never tread there:
Not flexible that path.
Yet the features that we've found,
Scarps, grooves, and coronae,
Give lie to the idea we're bound
To treat interest as phony.
For if this brave vessel was dashed all to pieces
Has been the subject of several theses.
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