In a time when the world was yet pristine
maidens questing the symbol of virginity
sought to find them in forests of verdant green
where they'd take refuge under the boughs of trees.

With a horn water was made pure for all;
upon this every creature could surely depend.
Everything was well till came the hunters' call.
Fleeing on split hooves would race against the wind.

In turn brought to bay by a pack of hounds;
their masters would then release arrows through the air.
The twang of bowstrings distinct among the sounds
as death's grip grabs hold on both stallion and mare.

Though it's been some time since I fit the role
and no bona fide proof that any have been seen
I have a feeling down deep inside my soul:
one I have not had since I was a teen.

Yes, their existence I still yet proclaim:
my hope renewed like the returning light of morn;
certain that somewhere some must somehow remain
for truly I still believe in unicorns