Tis but a moniker that yields strife;
Thou art thyself, though not a planet.
What’s planet? It is nor rock, nor atmosphere,
Nor dwarf, nor comet,
Nor bow wave in the solar winds.
But intermediate twixt them all, and unique,
Orbiting the Sun.
Retain that dear perfection
And doff attempts to classify.
Oh, be some other thing!
That which we call a rose
By any other name
Would smell as sweet.
By Kate Rauner
With apologies to The Bard
Thanks to csmonitor.com and Plutophiles everywhere.