Jack Frost silvering the grass,
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 leade...
Sunday 13th November 2011 3:05 pm