Icarus was soaring at the moment of his fall.
 Wild-eyed ape-godling
 Rising to glorious damnation. 
 His demesne below;
 Naked frothing flesh
 Jewl’d with a thousand fertile isles
 Where many fruits grow
 From a single tree.
  
 Not enough for this creator’s son,
 Who dared to rise and strike at heaven.
 Gaining, in apotheotic descent
 Immortal glory in the bay
 Where that kebab shop watches
 Illyria across the straits.