Transiency

Had this weak pen those sly Phoenix's powers, I wouldn't pester Time's much-envied eternities With blank queries that deaf ages well eschew, With any other of fate's multi-jigsawed parities. I would some five hundred ugly monsters kiss, And with each lip-touch life's bored cares miss. I would with most fatally feared cannibals play, And thus remiss spend longevity's primest day. But that legendary fowl's exaggerated breath I lack in luck's slow-fading inkwells and quills; Her survival ruse against death's sinking ploys, I feign no better than antique anecdoting skills. Bereft of mystic health plus its fabled might, I sing and act like one with a rationed height. Why tire the chained serf's tongue and sinew, To be outlived by tiniest wings that ever flew? So let the hour-caged minion to Maidens Nine, Indite his poesies while life still winks her sign.