The Poet And The Unicorn
The old poet sits by the stream
His pen still, idle in his hand
Nothing to write, nothing to dream
So much he failed to understand
He wrote of a world of love and hope
Came to believe it was real
It seems he was not prepared to cope
With a world cold and unable to feel
Today he has come to end his dream
Beaten by the coldness he has found
To sleep in peace by this stream
Awaken no more to it’s gentle sound
From the wood a sweet voice calls
Imploring him to rise and follow
To come where night never falls
And promises are never hollow
In the wood a unicorn stands
A wondrous being of beauty and light
Touch me sweet poet; reach out your hand
Let me make all things right
With the poet settled upon her back
The unicorn glides through the trees
Not following any trails or track
Nor leaving a trail that anyone sees
To this day his voice can be heard
Ringing through this stand of trees
But none remember a single word
Just his laughter floating on the breeze
The poet and the unicorn still ride
Always under the summer sun
Forgetting all the tears he cried
As they ride forever , joined as one
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You are listening to " She Believes In Me"
