by Gary Lewis

Created on: November 18, 2009   Last Updated: September 26, 2010

Lament, lament, oh King Minos of Crete,

When you imprisoned Daedalus in a tower so high;

never thought you your match to meet,

because you did not believe a man could fly.

Having made the choice to escape your jail;

wind lifted your glistening wings that day,

into the sky you escape without fail,

oh, what a terrible price you will pay.

Icarus, Icarus, a boy on wing,

flapped your arms with all your might.

The wind flowing through the feathers sing,

up, up to a dizzying height.

Daedalus? What else do you suppose he would do?

A young man, your son, when him you told;

the wax would melt should too high he flew,

did you not believe him to be that bold?

Singing joyfully on winds aloft,

ignoring islands of safety below.

Icarus, take heed for your wings grow soft,

your tragic and unfortunate fate apropos.

Should he fly too high, his wings would break;

but the boy flew too high into the void,

Thinking naught of what was then at stake.

When the wax was melted, the wings destroyed.

Dropping from the blue into the blue,

the waves of the Aegean roll over the lost.

Nothing but watch could his father do,

except mourn his son and regret the cost.

In Apollo's temple, Daedalus hung his wings;

for his son an isle he named for him.

Never again would he use those things,

oh the grief, the sadness and memories grim.

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