The last known unicorn, with the coat of angelic white.
It's almost as if he's magic, the possessor of powers unknown.
He keeps the hope of finding another, but he is painfully alone.
Being seen by mankind, would mean instant death. Due to life's attained ignorance, they would take his last breath.
He wants so badly to nuzzle, close to someone safe and warm.
But this hope slowly fades, as does night with coming morn.
He remains forever brave, and holds his head up high. Sometimes on a quiet night, you can hear his mournful cry.
He will continue his search, until his dying day. The majestic and beautiful unicorn, who is perfect in every way.
REARING UNICORN
Before a scene of blue mountains
And a darkening sky,
A wonderous sight, Catches my eye.
I saw it clearly through the fog,
And the misty air.
And I must admit I had to stop and stare.
A mixture of both, White and gold.
It was so very new,
And yet so very old.
Front legs paw the air,
Muscles rippling. My antisipation
And excitment trippling.
I then looked apon the single,
Golden horn,
Of a beautiful Rearing Unicorn.
With pale white horses,
And speed like an elf,
She journeys to find
Old death himself.
Her shadow looms
Across the ground.
She usually whispers,
Barely making a sound.
With Pale white horses,
With golden horns.
Pulling her chariot,
Safely through storms.
Nothing can stop her,
Behind or ahead.
And she'll never stop,
Until she is dead.
She flys through the air
But doesn't have wings.
Listen closely,
As she she sings.
About pale white horses
With golden horns.
Through the clouds,
Above the storms.
Across the sky,
Beneath the sun,
She seems to be
A lonely one.
Across the sky,
Without any wings.
Listen closely
And hear her sing.
To the pale white horses horses,
With golden horns,
Pulling her in a chariot,
Through the storms.
Nothing can stop her,
Behind or ahead,
And she refuses to stop,
Until she is dead.
Like a single statue
She stands all alone,
In a golden chairiot
That shines like a throne.
She has diamonds & emeralds
And rubies galore,
But to her they're just stones
And don't mean anything more
To the pale white horses,
With golden horns,
Pulling the chariot
Through the storms.
Refusing to stop
Till her journey is through,
And I have decided
To be like her too.
Across the sky
Without any wings,
Listen closely
To what she sings.
While she sings.
by: Wolf
