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Locked away for uncertain time,
Mindful of King Minos’ crime,
In a tower that stretch’d high beyond,
And hope of escape was something fond,
But soon he jointly tied the plume,
Large and small, within the room,
He quickly made, of wax and thread,
A set of wings which proudly spread.
He jumped from open window high,
And hovered still within the sky,
Poised himself on beaten air,
Then made his son a skilful pair,
They leaped together from the sill,
And once or twice did they both spill,
But soon they both had grasp of flight,
And rules did Daedalus recite:
“Do not fly too far ahead,
Be wary of where you’re being led,
Do not go nearby the Sun,
For in heat, wax melts, and comes undone,
Nor too low should you crave jaunt,
For fear of losing more than daunt,
Ocean’s spray does make you wet,
And a water epitaph shall set.”
They both began their airy way,
But before too long did Icarus stray,
He soared with glee aloft and swift,
And shouts of warning tried to lift,
But Icarus was too far gone,
And his wings, with pride, did don,
Commenced to soften, come apart,
And downward plunged the falling dart.
With overwhelming guilt and grief,
Daedalus, in disbelief,
Wept openly for his lost child,
With reddened eyes which hunted, wild,
He named the land nearby in praise,
Icaria, its name for days,
He beat his wings in solemn ode,
Towards the West, on winds he rode.
He landed safe in care of King,
To Sicily did the breezes bring,
He set to work to build from stone,
A mighty Shrine to stand alone,
Constructed high, to commend the Sun,
Brick by brick, ‘till it was done,
Then did the artificer drape
His wings in homage to His shape.
End.
Daegal
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