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We are but in Pompey's dream
For in perception do we feel
Honour among all those who clamour
They clamour all but still yield
For goodness is a treasure trove
Of love and gentle thoughts
Pure white unicorns, for they
Stand legend where time means naught
Careless castles of conceit
Built upon these grains of dust
Dreams of these magnificent beasts
Horned creatures of stately trust
I see no hope of Spring returning
Yet always hope springs eternal
So careless with legends we must fall
Beyond all feelings held internal
To hearts and minds. Fair unicorn
Are but visions of my sweetest thoughts
Of my purest joy. Of my deepest care
Prancing through these lace worked dreams
Like paragons of virtue they stand there
Upon a crested knoll. I close my eyes
To see but all else of meagre looks
For such fair beauty as this unicorn
Is found in hearts, not in books
By David Peter Robertson

April 28, 2004
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