Everyone thinks Jupiter is so great, and yeah, he’s full of generosity, but he can be kinda blustery, too. He certainly makes a big deal out of things, but sometimes it’s just hot air.
Venus is pleasant, I guess, but that’s about all I can say of her—In truth, I find her a little weak.
The Sun is bright and independent, and I enjoy his company immensely. As he told me years ago, though, “We come when we like.” No use chasing after royalty.
The Moon and I are practically inseparable, although I hesitate to admit it: Up and down I go with her like the tides, passing through a different phase every night—or each hour, more like it.
Neptune is too weird and aloof for me to fathom: He’s just there, drifting along in the ether.
Mercury is my good friend: Quick, sharp, and incisive. Uranus, on the other hand, knocks me out in a single jolt, but always keeps things spicy.
Pluto is my homeboy: dark, stealthy, forever destroying and evolving. I just let him do his thing.
Mars and I are tight: I like his unique and feisty spirit, and he’s always had my back.
Saturn is the one that gets the most undeserved hate. Why so many fear him is beyond me.
He’s strict but kind, relenting but never destructive. He demands good work and wants it delivered, but he’s not a perfectionist either.
If you’re lazy, I suppose, you won’t get very far with him, but if you put in the work, he’ll revel with you in your accomplishment.
Each of them I admire in different ways, but let it be known that this man will forever be Saturn’s child.
