Beneath the shadowy moonlit trees
A light gilds the silvery leaves
And through the window, there I see
A misty illusion of legend.
Perhaps it's a pagan god of yore;
Perhaps a queen from a distant shore.
Maybe a faerie crossing the moor;
Maybe it's only a trick of my eyes.
My breath comes quick as I hear
An echo of music harkens near
A swift impression of a silver deer
But lo--'tis more than what it seems.
It turns to me; and its eyes are wise
It knows my dreams; my truths and lies.
But soon the sun will start to rise;
And it will be gone before the dawn.
Rising its head; it is noble and pure.
Wraith-like, it flees; swift and sure.
Who can resist the magical lure
Of a silver specter. . .a unicorn?
Dedicated to Phoebe. . .a little girl who believed in unicorns.