Last Unicorn
When the last eagle flies over the last crumbling mountain.
And the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain.
In the shadow of the forest though she may be old and worn.
They will stare unbelieving at the Last Unicorn.
... When the first breath of winter through the flowers is icing.
You look to the north and a pale moon is rising.
It seems like all is dying and would leave the world to mourn in the distance.
Hear her laughter.
It's the Last Unicorn.
I'm alive
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