Standing on the highest cliff,

Overlooking the forest,

She nods to the caring hawk

That wonders what could possibly be wrong

With such a perfect creature.

She watches over the sleeping cougar,

That keeps the deer in check.

These are her friends,

The animals, the trees.

They remind her how wonderful a creature she is:

Pure white, perfect, innocent, magic

And powerful.

She's lucky, they tell her,

For she is immortal.

But they are wrong.

"They are the lucky ones."

She says to herself.

"For there are more like them,

But only one of me.

And I am the last unicorn,

And I am lonely."