For most of its life,
A phoenix is just a bird.
Beautiful, no doubt,
As all great birds are
In their own right.
Yes, lovely as it is,
For most of its life
A phoenix is just a bird
Until it erupts in spectacular fashion--
Feathers into flames
Birdcall into roaring inferno--
Consuming the body
Until only ashes remain.
But the show is not over!
The conflagration
was just the beginning:
From the pile of ash
Still smoldering
The bird rises anew
Spectacularly reanimated
From the inanimate destruction
It shakes off the remaining ashes,
All reminders of past annihilation,
And goes on its way
Because,
For most of its life,
A phoenix is just a bird.
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