Skilled Daedalus built feathered wings,
And asked his son to test the things.
He made the wings with wax for glue,
And thought the sticky wax should do.
He warned his son the wax could melt,
But Icarus, foolhardy, felt
He was impervious to harm;
The warning caused him no alarm.
The feckless boy, immune to care,
Soon launched himself into the air,
But flew too near the burning sun;
Both wings fell off, and he was done.
The dream of flight, and own the sky,
Is brave, and noble, worth the try.
That time, it came to no avail,
And so, we end this sorry tale.