Yield

 
 
 
I chase a marvelous goat —
the young idea
frisky and rambling.
I fenced her in with words.
A mazing race though the whishing wind.
She laughed when I claimed to have caught her
and led me on
through newborn autumn fields.
 
Looking for repose.
Straining for that certain something
which will linger as satisfaction.
Waiting for a sign — a way to go toward unity.
 
So you think to tame the unicorn?
Why not, instead, become one?
Wild satyr infused with magic.
Briskly cavort through changing trees,
audacious, beautiful in freedom.
.
.
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