I step out into the heating sun's rays
Like the last bang it has before setting into the night sky
But this is the morning
What it has not in heat, it makes up for in brightness
Almost making me flinch at the sight
Reaching forward and stunning anything in it's graspe
Through our march-burnt sky
Soon it heats up
And loses its bright
As the maturing phoenix that it is
Fly away! O young phoenix
For the phoenix-poacher
Grey as they are in soul and sight,
Will strangle you on the spot
They make their cautious approach
Dead or alive