When I was a little girl,
full of confidence and innocence,
I waited for a unicorn to come to me,
to show me fantasy and magic,
and fulfill my only dream.
With firm belief and buoyant eagerness,
I waited impatiently,
and I wondered when it would happen,
and the years flew by . . .
When I was an older girl,
somewhat shaken in my faith,
and distinctly less innocent,
I wished for a unicorn to come to me,
to show me pure love and lost joy,
and keep alive my only dream.
With anxious heart I wondered,
if I was still worthy; but I waited hopefully,
and the years flew by . . .
Now that I am a young woman,
heartsick and disillusioned,
I long for a unicorn to come to me,
to show me sweet memories and rekindle my soul,
and give me back my only dream,
With weary spirit and desperate need,
I wonder if there ever existed a unicorn,
and I would really like to believe,
as the years fly by . . .
When I am an old woman,
empty and heartbroken,
all alone with shattered beliefs,
I will not hope or wonder,
or think of long-lost dreams,
With no faith left and resilience gone,
I only pray that I not remember unicorns,
so that I will not know to regret,
that one never came to me.