A breeze is tearing down the leaves of the trees   (That are) falling asleep in the colors of Fall      Again, I can hear that strange beat of the Earth   That melancholy neigh and sorth of the nostrils      The strokes of hoofs sound again over the land   I can see them again galloping gracefully   Their blowing white manes, a tender sharp horn on their brow      Only a virgin could touch their grace   And feel the touch of their eyelashes in her palm   Just today, when I'm scrolling across the forest   And that ancient touch is warming my palms      Just today, I'm trying to find the traces of UNICORNS   As if their traces were still warm   But those paths have been overgrown with grass   For a long time...