Poor me, why is this happening to me?
A century of recognition, and then this?
What have I done? What’s my fault now?
What if I am the smallest of all available?
What if I am but an invisible speck high?

See the bright side, not dark and rank,
I have got my children, my own nature
Always round and cute and nice to view
There are others who are like me before
There are some who look like me now

The story started with five, rose to nine,
And then this axe fell, now it’s but eight
Should I care and be saddened by this,
Or should I be content with who I am
And always stay as now, as how I am?

Let them say what I am, I am but unique,
But let them revel in my glory in the night,
Let them remember me what I gave them,
Not the classification, as the good old Pluto