Phœnix
Five hundred disappointments turn to ash;
Five hundred sadnesses their embers add;
And yet five hundred more bleak problems drop
Their charred remains upon the reeking pyre
Of life’s ambitions and frustrated dreams.
The free, bright birds of our once-youthful hopes
Too soon are snared by time’s realities
And quickly die, or spend their years encaged
In harsh necessities’ priorities
Which slowly damp their hearts’ creative fires.
But see!. From out the smoking embers comes
A tiny flame!. Look how it flickers there,
Then multiplies itself ten thousand times, at once
Transformed into Phœnix accomplishment!.
