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Once in the land where the Nile crossed,
A creature so striking was seemingly lost.
So old and withered with weakness and age.
It seemed a lost cause in its final stage.
It sat in the trees at the high top.
Tears shed, praying its pain would stop.
After many suns had fallen and returned,
The sun-kissed wings started to burn.
Wrapping tightly to its chest,
Flames danced up to the crest.
Soon there was nothing but ash.
Mourners wept for its past.
But three moons shone their face,
Before something else took its place.
In the gray dust that lay in the nest,
A golden form arose, one with the same crest.
A melodious voice was sung into the sky.
“Reborn from ashes,” the Phoenix cried.