Attempt 4-3-4

One summer’s morn, an hour past dawn,

I woke, and sat upright.

I could have sworn a sound had torn

From someone gripped by fright.

The day was bright, the sky alight,

And everywhere did gleam.

But normaler sights had I that night

Beheld inside my dreams.

For someone streamed with coat pale-cream

Across the morning’s air.

And I believe she made the scream

Which roused me from my lair.

And then, I swear, a shaven bear

Did bellow out in scorn,

“God curse you, mare! Aren’t you aware

“I prefer unicorns!”

Author's Note

Poem by Aquillo