The enduring tale of the bird known as the Phoenix stretches as far back in time as historian can delve.
It has a colorful, nearly impervious plumage of gold and scarlet shades of red. It begins its 500 year life-cycle as pure white, turning red as it grows older and wiser. Near the end of its life, it must build its own funeral pyre of twigs which burns the Phoenix to ashes and from which it is reborn, once again pure white and innocent of all knowledge and wisdom, ready to continue its endless cycle of birth, growth and death.
I have told this story in poetry, followed by a prose version that closely follows the poem, follow by a section combining both the poem and the prose.