Upon the pad the frost lay thick, the dishes faced the night,
We wrap the year with high-tech gear, and call it quite all right.
In Brussels, slides grow halos bright, with sovereignty for show,
The spreadsheets ring like churchbells sing, but budgets answer, no.
While spy fleets whisper to the ground, their beams the wrong way round,
We ask for notes, get empty quotes, transparency is drowned.
Eutelsat tried a soldier’s coat, to suit the winter air,
OneWeb salutes, checks out its roots, and pretends not to care.
SES reels in Intelsat, in hope for cleaner charts,
The number checks, they’ll need new decks, and finance sharpens darts.
Our phones beg stars for bars of hope, in low and patchy towns,
Direct to cell, that they will sell, yet regulator frowns.
So Bezos targets Elon’s fleet, the trick is to launch fast,
If not in time, he’ll aim for Prime, and just ignore he’s last.
Then SpaceX humms of IPOs, for twenty twenty-six,
The bankers cheer, the close is near, just hope the paper sticks.
So toast the year with cocoa sweet, and keep your filings near,
The sky will sell, to every cell, then bill you for the cheer.
Happy Holidays
