When he was old and children grown,
his goodwife gone and all alone,
by the window he sat forlorn,
and lo! He saw the unicorn!
Next day the cottage, empty, lay;
friends wondered how he'd gone away.
His neighbor said he'd seen, in truth,
Bill Bowditch, looking like a youth,
in bright colors was young Bill adorned,
astride a great white unicorn!
Ne'er seen again by mortal eyes
Bill Bowditch passed to Paradise.
Copyright (C) 2013 by John Bliven Morin
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem