The crimson feathered phoenix
Alights on his favorite tree
Despite his ornate fix
With him it would be deadly to disagree

Flames are his offense
Used to heal and destroy
Bound by no fence
He has no equal; no decoy

His staunch ruby wings flap
Foliage murmurs as he jaunts through the sky
Nothing moves as he flies by
Any prey that comes near, dies

The phoenixes flaw
Is death by flame
He reincarnates; head to paw
Renewed, he lets out a call of fame

His dying hour, his hail
Unintelligible, unrefined
Rebirth; he yelps without fail
He is one with the wind, divine

The bird’s outline of day:
At night, enjoys a feast
In the early hours he stalks prey
He sleeps with one eye open to the east

I beheld the phoenix leave his leafy column
Flying upward from the forest
All animals salute him no matter where it’s from
He is recognized by all, mostly those he relieves of sorest