Once upon a time ago,
A phoenix dared kiss a dove;
Together, wings beat with love,
With ador true, passion slow.
Phoenix of autumnal light,
Hearts collide and lit aglow.
Together, they could both grow,
Through open skies they took flight.
Once they moved in tandem, now
Still as a set sun they lay.
Easy love they did portray;
Though turtle promised no vows.
Here the anthem doth commence:
Love and constancy is dead;
Died it did when Phoenix fled,
Dove still feels a loss, immense.
Phoenix from ash is reborn;
And perfect as they hath seemed
(Like nothing could come between)
The dove from ash remains torn.
Feathers of flame and fury,
Fervor, passion, sparks ignite,
And ashes spread like a blight,
Below, dove burned to bury.
Reciprocity a dream,
With singed wings, dove died on dirt,
What remained; a numbing hurt,
Death of love is now the theme.
For True Love does not exist,
Phoenix burned the whole night through,
From turtledove they withdrew,
Love is only reminisced.
So heed this tale as warning:
Wise the owl who stands alone,
Or eagles heart, cut from stone,
Now the crows stay in mourning.
Subverting Shakespeare's poem. It never made sense that The Phoenix and The Turtle would ever be a staple of perfect love when one would burn and consume the other.