Smog-shrouded Titan,
Saturn's largest moon—
Its murky mystery penetrated
By Huygens' curious parachutes,
Sent to probe a pumpkin-tinted haze,
That thick wool pulled over our eyes
Since the universe was infant.
We found some things that we expected—
Cold, yes, bitter cold and acetylene ice,
But who would have believed our luck
To land upon a tormented shoreline
That hints at reservoirs of ammonia mixed with water.
Far below its broken surface,
Titan's keeping secrets still.
For centuries we've turned our eyes
Outward to the planets and their barren satellites
Searching for clues to our world's origin.
We hoped that Titan held some key—
But its brittle lakes and broken tributaries
Tell us nothing of young Earth's singular spawning.
Titan is a world all its own.