The Shrinkling Poem by Nancy Ames

Ganabner didn't know that he was ugly;
he didn't know he had a funny name.
He thought his hollow log was nice and snuggly,
and he even thought that wolves and bears were tame.

He worried quite a lot about the humans;
he worried quite a lot about their brains.
A lot of them creating their illusions
had always left him picking up remains.

But he liked the one who lived beside the river,
the one who worked so hard and never smiled.
He helped in secret ways and tried to give her
hints of harmony within the inner child.

She saw him one day standing in the shadows,
beneath the trees where all the air is green.
And she saw the tiny faces at her windows,
and she wondered then how much she hadn't seen.

Ganabner didn't talk much to the others;
he liked to go off by himself and think.
He never went to parties like his brothers,
but he always kept appointments with his shrink.

Of course, it cost an awful lot of acorns,
but at least he wasn't singing to the moon.
Or riding on imaginary unicorns,
and the shrink said he would be quite well, quite soon.

She'd sit at night in firelight and shadows,
singing songs she knew when she was young.
He couldn't know how very quick the time goes,
but he remebered every song she'd ever sung.

He didn't tell until a long time after;
he was absolutely sure that she'd come back.
But he couldn't stand the shrink's derisive laughter,
or even one superior wisecrack.

The unicorn was waiting in the moonbeams,
and the waterfall still played its melody.
At least, he wasn't lost among his daydreams,
as they ran so fast into mythology.