Now I fear that I am too late. For I am the last, completely alone. There are none who know me, none who wish to know me. Their belief in magic, in fairytales, has faded.
Alone I stand beside a stream, watching the water drift away idly. Where does it go, I wonder, this obscured stream of glistening water, of the essence of life? Where does it go, and where does it come from? Are there any who know truly the mysteries of the stream?
Are there any who care?
Now I fear I am too late.
Are there none, oh sensuous wind, caressing me with your touch, who remember my name? Where are the children, where are the innocent maidens? Have they too been lost to this new age of impulse and pleasure?
Have they too been left behind?
For I am the last, completely alone. There are none who know me, none who wish to know me.
Through shadows I move, shimmering in the glow of darkness. My coat is that of the palest star, and my horn is the very depiction of majesty and grace. Do they not see my rays of light, hear my cries of pain, of sorrow?
Do they not know that I am here?
Do they not care?
I have been forgotten, lost, left behind.
I have faded away; indeed, I am nothing but a once-dreant dream.