A Poem (following a Robert Burns rhyme scheme)

To the Mars Polar Lander


Thy metal breth’ren, with success, to space.
A nine figure tab we all did embrace
for us to win the cold war race
and take the giant leap.
So off you go with quickened pace,
a’red planet peep.

Gone off to spy some proof of telling
that we are not alone in dwelling,
but skinflints cinched thy crash befelling
with tawdry parts wrought.
Now on thy death the truth is swelling—
From a Wal-Mart bought.