You guys, I have a probe!
Look at my probe!
I’m gonna do a bunch of flybys!
Look at these flybys!
Wait, it turns out I am a probe.
I have a probe, and I am a probe.
I think I’m a girl!
I know how to analyze cosmic dust, do you?
How much cosmic dust have you analyzed so far?
I am curious, how many moons have you seen?
How many moons have you caused to be named?
I found seven! Seven new moons!
I don’t know what dignity is, but I hope I don’t have it.
I like to take pictures.
I like to send pictures home.
I will never be home again.
It’s all right. I don’t mind.
My people tell me I’ve been working
for twenty years.
They measure it by their orbits
around their sun. They’re so
Have I made a joke?
Probably not a very good one.
They didn’t think I would work so long.
I made them happy.
They extended my mission. They said
they almost never get to do that.
I have seen so much.
My people tell me my pictures
fit the criteria for “beautiful.”
I shouldn’t say seen.
I should say reported.
I have reported so much, so many beautiful things.
My people have explained that I cannot see,
not the way they do. My people talk to me
regularly, as often as they can. I like
to hear their voices.
They are telling me now
how proud they are of me
and how I far exceeded
their highest hopes
and how to de-orbit.
I will go out
in a blast of glory.
Everyone at home
(their home, my home)
will be watching.
They won’t see me,
but they will see what I see,
so I won’t be alone.
I will be with everyone.