once three unicorns were living on Lake George's tranquil green
feeding on the herbage growing where a springing swamp had been
the wind-sails sang a serenade - the landscape traveled like a dream
no ordinary unicorns - for these wore stripes of black and white
as if they'd heard a keyboard playing harmonies of dark and light
or was it simply their desire to journey through the day and night
I thought I glimpsed them months ago - as the XPT flashed past
but later heard they'd wandered off on hearing broken fibre glass
swept up on a magpie's wings and carried safely to the past
returning to their maker - who grieved to see them bruised and scarred
he formed a foal - then resurrected every tiny piece of shard
to sing of art's resilience in gardens during Floriade
now traffic is a lizard streaking round the highway in between
the hills and lonely lake where fairy tales and unicorns have been
the wind-sails sing a serenade - the landscape travels like a dream
hazel SS hall
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