The Unicorn of Ghorn

© Jennifer Yuan - echinus@softhome.net

Great gloom hovered one August day
Over the small village of Ghorn.
A hunter arrived, so they say
To track the last white unicorn.

The young stranger dressed all in gray
Wielded a long sword by his side.
The boy rode off without delay
To slay the town's beloved pride.

Galloping to the woods afar,
To people's cries, he paid no heed.
Guided by the moon and the Star,
He sped through the night on his steed.

By chance, the creature he did spot,
He whipped his trusted horse around.
The unicorn stood within shot.
It approached him without a sound.

The boy slid out his deadly blade
Ready to draw red against white.
The beast's gentle gaze did not fade,
Her kind eyes shimmered in the light.

His frail sister have not been well.
The cure of the horn, he did seek
He could not strike, his courage fell.
Hot tears welled and rolled down his cheek.

The boy left with a heavy heart.
His hope blown to winds with a sigh.
For home, the next day he did start.
Mountains echoed his mournful cry...

Spring returned while the winter went.
Scented bright flowers bloomed once more.
Animals woke from sleep well-spent.
Young children played along the shore.

Deep within the forest of Ghorn,
A foal with its mother is seen.
Pearl-white coat, with a pretty horn,
Eyes of the sister's shade of green.