Opportunity will no longer knock.
Opportunity will no longer
Respond to our knocks.
Nobody home. Go away please.

For 15 years, without a whimper,
She spoke when spoken to
And went where she was told,
Sat up straight and minded her business.

Dusted, frozen, gimpy,
Still she plodded along
The Martian ridges,
Our spy in the sky

One final dust storm,
And she’s had enough.
Want to see what’s
Beyond the next hill?

Come on up here your damn self.