Unicorn Pie

There are some beasts you barbecue–
Wyvern. Leviathan.
And some beasts that you marinate
(If you’ve a large plate, and can.)

There are some beasts in the forest green
Perfect to ear and eye
Surely I can interest you
In a lovely Unicorn Pie?

Unicorns have cloven hooves
Which suggests meat for a stew
Do let the meat tenderize
For at least a night or two.

Unicorns have lovely horns.
But selling them’s illegal.
On the other hand, when ground up
The taste is really regal.

Unicorns are sugary sweet
As though stuffed with candy
Even though you and I know
They’re stuffed with whatever’s handy.

Unicorns are vicious beasts.
They bite. They kick to maim
And they taste even sweeter
If you know their name.

Why are Unicorns such dessert
With souls so black and coalish?
Is it some kind of trauma
That happens when they’re foalish?

Alas, I think we’ll never know.
It’s not that they’re not talking to us.
But it hurt when we found out:
Behind our backs, they’re mocking us.

Why the Unicorn? Magickal works!
Why’d they have to be such jerks?
Anyway, if one died, I wouldn’t morn–
Hey, pass the mustard? And the horn?

Unicorns crave the virginal.
And sharing them takes precision surgical.
Each proportion? Sheer perfection.
(I’d vote “left haunch” if we had election.

Some ask: “Why not farm?
“Like the horse and pig”
Aye. We tried that.
A moment of silence. A prayer to Frigg.”

Sadly, sadly, with Unicorns
You have the same problem as with Elves
They’re perfect, so if left alone
They’ll simply eat themselves.

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