The narwhal and the unicorn,
are clearly cousins, distant-born,
as each one has a single horn.
The narwhal swims in arctic seas,
beneath the bergs and floes that freeze.
The unicorn likes magic trees,
elves, pixies and enchanted rings,
but dislikes trolls and evil things.
He loves princesses, can’t stand kings.
The unicorn is very proud
of his great lance; he sings aloud
to draw a big, admiring crowd.
He lets girls plait his glossy mane
but hides in hollows from the rain
(a few folk might think he is vain).
The narwhals’s horn grows from its jaw –
a tooth a metre long or more –
but no-one’s quite sure what it’s for.
We know the horn is packed with nerves
so as the narwhal glides and curves
does it sense prey that slinks and swerves?
The narwhal has no teeth to chew
so filters squid and water through
its jaws to make an icy stew.
I don’t know what the other eats.
A bit of grass, white chocolate treats,
or maybe green, enchanted sweets?
This poem isn’t going well.
I’d hoped these one-horned beasts would gel,
but I can’t seem to cast the spell.
I owe you an apology:
the unicorn’s mythology,
the narwhal is zoology.
My interfering has to end.
It’s not my job to twist and bend
these two; they neither need a friend.
© Huw Evans 2019
If you feel the need for more serious poetry then have a look at Minor Monuments, available from this site.