Les Rêves Canadiens

 
       Legend of the Unicorn

       Mystical creature,
       Magestic horn,
       Magical presence
       In a valley of scorn.

       Weary from it's journey,
       Over hills and plains;
       Must rest awhile
       Strength to gain.

       Nowhere to go,
       Too weak to press on,
       Wings are broken;
       Might die before dawn.

       Rescue this creature,
       From meadows where it looms
       Before it comes face to face,
       With the master of doom.

       Captured in vines,
       Spreading round and round;
       The agony is calling
       This creature to the ground.

       A gun shot is heard,
       In the distance far off;
       The creature collapses
       To the earth so soft.

       An empress comes by
       Sees the creature laying lifeless
       "My unicorn is dead!"
       She says rather hopeless

       In cold blood
       It lay there
       For weeks on end
       The empress wouldn't move it
       Out of respect for the dead

       The stagnant smell
       Was enough to choke
       But she wouldn't care

       Many legends from her folk,
       Said unicorns were precious things;
       Worth lots of money to the king.
       So of their praises she would sing,
       Till along came her death toll
       In the spring.
 

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