When you catch a glimpse of it, <br />in the sunlit glade, <br />among the high hills, <br />among the white-crested waves, <br />does it move? <br />or is it unmoving, <br />this graceful vision of it? <br /> <br />it seems unmoving, yet <br />faster than the mind moves; <br />ahead of all your senses; <br />even roaming wild and joyful <br />among the high hills, <br />its white mane flying free, <br />somehow it's still <br />within its movement, <br />within your stillness; <br /> <br />can you see the tracks of fish, <br />or the airy passage of the birds? <br />it's beyond movement, even beyond stillness; <br />and yet, you love it, <br />yearn for it, although it - because it <br />runs faster than the mind of man. <br />Is that its love?<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/unicorn-14/
