The Unicorn

Oh, unicorn with your golden horn,
What has made you so forlorn.

Is it that your mistress is away,
And there is no one with whom to play.

Or is it that your ball of glass,
Keeps you from the upper class.

Or is it that the snow,
Will not allow for you to grow.

Is it that you can not talk,
Or maybe that you'll never walk.

There is no way for me to tell,
For I am felling very well.