ICARUS AND THE SUN

Icarus, my beloved son!
Come, let us flee from Crete,
Neither high, close to the sun,
Nor too low; like a hawk we bate.

Follow my path of flight, my son,
For the wings are made of wax.
Do not fly too higher, hun,
For the sun would slash your wings as sax.

Do not bait lower near the sea,
For the dampness would pull you down.
Ensue your father, my son; trail me
Because you would be safe and lown.

Flap your wings and fly with me;
Icarus, my son, succeed your father ;
Let us soar safely to another country,
Elope from Crete and long live further.

Icarus, where are you?
Never be complacent and hubrid.
Have you gone out of my view?
How will I find you in the ocean's mid?

Lo! There you are my son!
Ashes of the wings hovering in the sky;
Burnt by the fierce,  scorching sun,
Drowned in the sea, dead you lie.