I am the hare
Who slips, brown,
through the fields
I am the doe
Whose hide blends
With the trees
I am the hawk
Who dives fleet
Through the skies
I am the white mare
Who bears
The one horn
The hare she will hide
The doe shyly come
The hawk to your hand
With demand she will fly
But the mare of white
Moves like a dream
The more you see her
The less real it will seem.