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Winter Horse

 
Again the dreams, each dark cold night, of a white horse, oh sweet delight; he turns to me, waiting it seems, each dark cold night, again the dreams. The snow falls, each flake filigree, waiting it seems, he turns to me; a small bird sings, with sad birdcalls, each flake filigree, the snow falls. Oh ... be still, I ask my heartstrings, with sad birdcalls, a small bird sings; the night quiet, I hear his trill, I ask my heartstrings, oh ... be still. And we ride, his hooves a riot, I hear his trill, the night quiet; across a meadow, swift we glide, his hooves a riot, and we ride.

Copyright © Constance La France

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Book: Reflection on the Important Things