Whenever we’re nearest to one in ourselves – <br />that’s when they’re most likely to be seen: <br />as we step out from the trees <br />into the gently sunlit glade, moss under hoof and foot, <br />it’s there. And so, because the unicorn already in our mind <br />is now prepared for this, it’s not a shock, or palpitating heart, <br />but like an old friend whom you’ve never met before. <br /> <br />Some, of course, have waited years <br />and only want to touch, to register for future tales <br />some special personal relationship – <br />they’re least likely to be given the chance; <br />but even those, I’m told, who live to touch, <br />in its so quiet presence, cease to want to touch. <br />And if you did, the story goes, this animal would know <br />your reasons – and might disappear; or yet, it might submit; <br />as woven hangings show it; meek in Mary’s lap. <br /> <br />Those who were so graced and speak of it <br />say little. For when the unbelievable <br />just happens, what is there to say <br />in words that were not used thus yesterday? <br />All that they can tell us is, that they and it, <br />under its sweet and gentle understanding <br />were so at one, that what was known, was known…<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unicorn-2/
