The lass appeared through the mists and fog
on her silvered unicorn flying.
The creatures of night that lived in the bog
cursed the winds that sent her crying.
In midnight silence she begs for repose
as if this was hers to be thus gifted.
The dark that prevails is something she knows;
she waits for the thickened fog to be lifted.
As morning approaches,a revelation
soars from her lips and drifts away.
Magical earthly celebration
as she clutches an herbal bouquet.
Lovely lady of the fog and mist
sparkle the night into the morn.
On your face that angels kissed
within lies the truth now born.
written by Deb Wilson