When fire fades, I often stay, a powder pale and soft as clay. Yet from my bed, so tales convey, a phoenix may be reborn one day.

I leap but have no legs, I glow but have no soul, I die with a single breath.

I'm black as night, but bring the light. I'm deep in the earth, a hidden might. Men dig for me, for power and heat, but break their backs in this dark retreat. What am I?

If cells surfed, or had hands to greet you with from afar, You could say they catch or do this.

A cold, sweet treat well suited for a hot summer day. Start with the person we are celebrating today, followed by an erudite way to point out the original author made a mistake. Finish with a French article.