The Unicorn

The Unicorn

On May Day morning I ascended
Wooded slopes to catch the thrill
Of the sunrise in it’s glory
From the top of Chancton hill

At the top I wandered slowly
To the Ring and sensed a shade
Then I heard the muffled hoofbeats
Still felt easy, unafraid

In the eastern sky the wonder
Of a beltane rising sun
Lit the legendary story
As the unicorn came on

Enchanted then I watched the vision
Trot up there before my eyes
Saw the sweaty grey coat gleaming
Felt that I was recognised

Snorting though his silken nostrils
Bright his single gold horn shone
Flashing cold, blue eyes upon me
Tossed his head and galloped on

Was I dreaming, was I weary,
Was the sight unconscious will?
I believe I saw the legend
Last May Morn on Chancton Hill.