There is a unicorn in the city.
Who is a little pretty.
He jumps and he walks.
And never stops.
He is my friend.
We play and we bend.
He has a tiny horn on his head.
But surely does not eat bread.
He has a little kid.
Who opens my lunch's lid.
I like his kid and him.
He has hair but does not trim.
Now in the world there is no.
They must be in the heaven so.
I see him in my imagination.
May be he reached his destination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem