The end of its cycle drawing near,
the Phoenix builds its nest,
gathering up twigs from each place
its journey has taken it,
mementos, both loved and loathed.
Its last will and testament,
to ignite the nest, and surrender to the flames
in the funeral pyre of its own memories.
All is reduced to ashes, Bird and nest.
But the lingering heat of the ash rises,
swirls into a vortex of spinning air,
gathering the hot ash, an ember coalesces,
like hot dust from whirling spindle and socket.
From that glowing ember, a new incarnation is born.
Purged of all dross, the Phoenix resurrects,
takes flight, free of the fetters of its past life,
And begins a new cycle.