Hope burns brightest at its worst,
When darkness clouds it and light is burst.
But by the phoenix, the flame will grow.
Together, they will start and flow.

For fire loves the great flame bird,
And the phoenix seeks to simply merge,
With pure bright light, and truth
in plight.
The phoenix loves the fire, bright.

Flame, however, burns and sears,
So the bird began to fear
Heat's sweet call, and a rift appeared.
Yet still the flame loved the firebird.

Finally the lovers last
Could no longer stand to stand so fast.
The red-plumed bird flew to hearth,
And fire took her to its birth.

True lovers till their dying breath,
The bird was burned and seared to death.
Flame fell still, cooled by sadness,
As ashes fell in ironic gladness.

Love, however, lasts beyond,
The darkness of a solemn song,
And as the ashes touched the flame,
A small red bird was born again.