Like Icharus in his quest to the sun,

My wings melted from your radiance

And I am rendered flightless;

But not without song.

As the bard for his supper,

I sing to eat and drink of you;

With my eyes

Until I am so drunk that I can’t see

Until I collapse from exhaustion

Full, yet never satisfied;

Leaving room enough for just

One morsel of your sweet ambrosia –

A perfect dessert.