Attempt 4-3-4
One summer’s morn, an hour past dawn,
I woke, and sat upright.
I could have sworn a sound had torn
From someone gripped by fright.
The day was bright, the sky alight,
And everywhere did gleam.
But normaler sights had I that night
Beheld inside my dreams.
For someone streamed with coat pale-cream
Across the morning’s air.
And I believe she made the scream
Which roused me from my lair.
And then, I swear, a shaven bear
Did bellow out in scorn,
“God curse you, mare! Aren’t you aware
“I prefer unicorns!”