M.C. Newberry
WINTER GALLOPS
Crunching underfoot like glass,
Adding to a rider's woes,
Freezing fingers, numbing toes.
Steaming horses tread with care,
Warm breath misting in the air;
In line across a windswept hill
Where their master waits until -
In the gloom they surge and fade,
Strengths and weaknesses displayed,
Ghosts beneath a leaden sky,
One by one they pass him by....
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Sunday 13th November 2011 3:05 pm
Tags: horses,gallops,winter
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