Tale of the Phoenix

A wingspan as tall as a man and outstretched to catch the warm mountain current, It sails and soars and dives some more until all its wild energy is clearly spen t, And then it rests on the golden sands the feathers of its plumage lost in the du nes, Soaking in the sun and warming its full belly singing content its beautiful tune s. I know of the phoenix and I have seen it on the Nubian cliffs watching the world , Larger than an eagle and catching the winds as fast as any sails far below unfur led, So high up that the fishermen have often mistaken the call for the sirensâ song, But I was there when it perished and I watched in awe as the newborn came along. In Heliopolis I travelled East by trade routes long ago used which few men know, The phoenix with scarlet plumage streaked through the sky like a comet aglow, Landing in a tree as ancient as the bird itself and withered in the scorching su n, But there it started to build a nest and I set up camp to observe what was begun . Gold and red feathers seemed to shine and I marvelled as it built itself the pyr e, It perched wearily at last as I smelt the scent of cinammon and incense from a f ire, Slowly flames rose from beneath and within as a smoke obscured my secret view, A searing heat and white light blinded me for many minutes and my anxiety grew. When my sight was returned there in the ashes of both tree and bird upon the san d, Was a golden egg still warm which I took and nurtured in the embrace of my hand, A tiny pulse of sound echoed a beat like faintest drum carried far on wind or wi ng, And ran through me as I spoke softly in rapture to this most precious and rare t hing. The egg grew hotter and I dropped it but before it had even hit d, A tiny bird much like a scarlet macaw emerged with a shrill and It sang of its joy at rebirth and circled to visible heights in ve me, And I swear it seemed curious to be watched and undisturbed but the baking groun melodic sound, the thermals abo glad to be free.

They say the phoenix lives for five hundred years or maybe double in some times, So I wont see it born or rise again but I tell of it in my wandering tales and r hymes, And the crowds can doubt me but the site remains our secret for both our sakes, Where in the desert a sapling is growing with a purpose on a trail nobody takes.