The fables say

That there is magic in the horn,

When children ride,

Their imagination rides along,

They see the Unicorn in all its glory,

Whereas grown-ups only see

What their upbringing lets them see.

With innocence seated upon the mare,

The child and the mare are as one,

And, perhaps, one might glimpse a Unicorn,

When a grown-up sits

Upon the very same horse,

All one gets is a rider riding along!

The grown-ups only see

What they are conditioned to see,

It is the children who truly see -

They see the steps of a dance;

If one were to ask the mount,

What would the animal say to me?

In the forests, in the shade,

When the breeze is cool, when the spirits soar,

The children ride the Unicorn,

In a land of magic and of dreams,

Borne by wings of fantasy,

Upon pathways seldom seen.

As in other things in life,

Perception vary,

You get what you want,

You see what you want to see;

Without the child, there is no Unicorn,

Without the child,

There is but a little pony trotting along.