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.