during a quiet spring sunset,
there was a foolish young boy,
precariously searching for release.

with fragile wings,
his father composed of
feathers and wax,
he had finally escaped.

he paid no heed to the warning,
“don’t fly too close.”

reaching for the sun was pure insanity,
as he realized all too soon,
his efforts were completely wasted.

oh how the wings,
of wax rapidly melted.

with clutching hands,
and a desperate cry
up towards the sky,
he fell to the sea.