The Unicorn

Dreams are often made of the same magick as unicorns.

 

In songs and stories they sing of you,

In tapestries of old and paintings new,

The poets and dreamers know you well,

In every form of art they recreate your beauty.

Your noble head held high,

The Keeper of the Forest,

Sunlight glitters upon your golden horn,

Virgin white you pass as mist through the meadow,

Your kingdom's the realm of magick.
 

Where are you now?
 

In the soft innocence of a newborn baby's eyes,

In a child's heart you find life anew,

The soul open to wonder sees you even now.

In a realm of mist and shadow,

Lost between time and fantasy,

There you still roam the mystic woods,

Free and eternal.

 

July 5, 1988