I thought I glimpsed a phoenix from the corner of my eye,

I knew she was a phoenix when she swept across the sky.

Her head was forward facing and her eyes were upward bound.

Her orange-yellow feathers waved dismissal to the ground. 

As I watched this wonderous creature circle round and gather pace.

I marvelled at her beauty, her great power and her grace.

She swooped and span and hovered, riding thermals then the breeze. 

She seemed to make her journey without effort, but with ease.

Spotting something on the horizon she changed direction and was gone.

The only sweet reminder was the echo of her song.

I mused about this phoenix, about her speed and plumage bright.

I wondered where she headed as she raced into that night.

The phoenix is a rare bird. A bird you can never catch

No egg has been discovered as a phoenix does not hatch.

A phoenix never emerges from any safe, protective shell

But has to rise triumphant from the burning flames of hell.

The phoenix in her glory has been tempered hard and true

The flames that licked her plumage leave a burnished rainbow hue.  

So what does make the phoenix rise triumphant from the flame?

What power stops her melting into misery and pain?

Once I asked a phoenix and this is what she said to me

“It’s love, it’s hope and acceptance,

It’s knowing that what will be will be.”