Wings spread wide, feathers in flight,
The little finch flew through the air.
He sings his song, as he flies along,
To his true love, one that was rare.
Her golden glory shown from above.
The sun, was a lover so true.
During the day he thinks himself a dove.
That how much he loved her.
She loved his sweet melody,
And would listen to him day by day.
And on the days he had cried.
She gave him the warmth of her ray.
When he flew, he would rise higher.
No other bird dare fly so high up.
And others who claimed they did, be a liar.
They were fearful of the heat.
They were happy together.
Though they made an odd pair,
He still sang his song for her.
She sent him her warmth with care.
One day he flew way too close.
His tail feather was aflame.
Like Icarus he had rose.
Only to fall into ashes.
The sun was distraught.
Her little bird was no more
So she made a wish for his return.
Then out of the ashes rose a bird of lore.
The finch grew feathers of flame,
It had been given new life.
It rose to fly again!
This time to join the sun.
Each time the phoenix died,
He would be reborn.
Because of the wish the sun made,
For without him she would be forlorn.