The Unicorn Woods
“I am the only Unicorn there is? The last? … What do men know? Because they have seen no unicorns for a while does not mean we have all vanished."
― by Peter S. Beagle
Silver drips heavy from the moon’s metal face –
Darkness slithers through the shadows of the trees.
Wind whistles through the echoes of this place
And howls, mournful, through the dying leaves.
The pool, once used to mirror back her beauty,
Lies cold and dark, as if it never shone.
For she has left the woods and left her duty
In search of others, who are already gone.
And I was just a child then, but I saw her,
When there was still a ‘her’ that you could see.
She danced, all alone, beneath the winter fir,
and my heart was broke with sorrow, and with glee.
But now the moonlight fades, as sunshine slowly dawns,
Through the mournful autumn woods, that hold no unicorns.
Insp. The Last Unicorn, by Peter S. Beagle