Lifting his nose in the eye of the sun,
Waved he his hand to his wary progenitor;
Higher and higher he banked and he spun,
Mounting aloft as away from his ken he tore.
"Who's this," said Phoebus, "my kingdom affronts?
Doubtless, young fellow, your conduct you think witty;
I'll find a method of stopping your stunts;
Dear shall you pay for precocious propinquity."
Forth shot his beams ere the flier detected 'em,
Melting the wax on his wings (that connected 'em).