Fantasy's Legend
         In a hollow at the edge of fantasy's woods,
         Cloven hoofprints mark the grass.
         And the animal that made them should
         Never be seen by lad or lass.

         In the center of the glade
         Is a pure white pool.
         And the same animal made
         The water clear and cool.

         Silken body and silken mane,
         Hoofs that rang like crystal bells.
         A streaming tail, soft as rain,
         As he gallops through the dells,

         His long face is a horse's,
         His wavy beard a goat's.
         His cloven hoofs a goat's of course.
         And his hind legs an antelope's.

         But his pride, beauty, and grace,
         They belong to him alone.
         The gentleness of his face
         Lingers in streams over which he has flown.

         Take the moonlight, the fire of the sun's rays.
         The sheen of silver, the freedom of mink musk.
         Tie them with the dawn of a new day,
         And the last sweet dreams of dusk.

         Weave a net of silver so fine,
         The wind couldn't escape its web.
         The courage of the lion bind
         Together with grace and waters that ebb.

         And we have an animal wild and free,
         Whose coat shines like water in the night.
         A creature who loves you and me,
         Whose eyes glimmer with starlight.

         He walks with the grace of a swan.
         His muscles are taut with boldness.
         He's a reminder of the day gone,
         And a vision of the next day's loveliness.

         He is light and swift; the wind is his brother.
         His eyes are aflame with pride.
         But, more lovely, beauty is his mother.
         And for every creature that flies

         Or walks, or jumps, or crawls, or swims,
         Fantasy's solidification has a care.
         People? The silvery creature is waiting for them,
         If only they can find their way there.

         But still the animal wasn't complete.
         So Nature took the residue of light,
         The white daisies that the horses eat,
         The shadows left by the moon at night,

         And spun them on her loom to mend
         The crystal horse with a horn.
         Thus at last we have fantasy's legend,
         The magical, cloven-footed unicorn.