Pluto

I don't mind the demotion.
I admit I'm the oddball
With the cockamoon orbit,
Sole ecliptical scoffer
And freak of the System;
But I like my condition,
My iced isolation,
And the nose-thumbing slant
That injures my status;
So stripping away
That nickelplate glory--
The title of Planet--
Means nothing to me.
Oh sure, it is cold
And lonely out here
At the furthest far edge
Of the solar assembly.
Yet it warms me to know
I preserve my uniqueness:
It's an inside-out glow
That's so much more soothing
Than the feeble glint
Of the sun's commendation.
Yes, do carry on
With the pointless debate
Over labels and levels
And classifications;
I'll just mosey along
At my planetoid pace
On this deviant path
While ignoring detractors.