Saturday, 2 February 2008

The Legend of the Unicorn



Bubbles in a babbling brook burst over pebbles of glass
White chiffon swirls `round lissom limbs on a bank of verdant grass.
Drawn by mysterious force she comes to the woods in the dewy air,
She gathers bluebells and she weaves a garland for her hair.
Approaching hooves her joy completes, the proud steed shakes his head,
The strong, white body, flushed of face, falls down before her... dead.

A hush befalls the stricken woods, its breath suspended now,
Her violent efforts can’t dislodge the arrow from his brow.
“Breathe Life! I beg all woodland nymphs, the fairies and the sprite!
Reverse the treachery of man, great Artemis of night.”
She flings her arms around the beast; her crystal tears flow free.
Apollo and his sister smile, they can’t resist her plea.

The throbbing of a loving heart and warmth from the rising sun,
Blue flowers on a bloodstained mane, the miracle has begun.
Was it but a play of light, with the breaking of the dawn?
Or did the great colt quiver? No arrow now, just glistening horn.
“Ah, sweet victory,” the maiden cries, “no man can poison thee.
Unique within the magic world forever you’ll roam free.”

Prancing, dancing, a lyre enhancing the lilting woodland song,
The gentle steed and maiden sigh, assured they both belong
Where the natural and the mystic realms merge in the dewy air,
Where bubbles burst in crystal tears and great gods answer prayer.
So, in the morn, before the dawn, when a babbling brook she hears
She’ll find herself in Bluebell Woods where the unicorn appears.

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