The Last Unicorn

There is a spell written in the snow on Duke Street,

For a questioning man who dwells in dark and doubt;

It lay safely hidden beneath the maple branches,

Until one day his memory surrenders there

To the softly whispered story of lost Winter kisses,

On St. Valentine’s Eves that were stolen too soon;

Each word, a glimmer in the moonlight,

Icy sparkles formed by Unicorn tears,

Composing this stark Truth inside two haunted hearts:

“We leave behind our unicorns

The ones that get away —-

But they’re never fully gone ,

They will always be here,

Roaming forever

In the grassy fields of your soul.”

(Yes. Always.)







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