Cold Journey
The old draught horse with weary hooves will slog
through wet snow pulling hard and breathing fog
and he glides still near farms and fields where we
dream warm of home and fireside's reverie
The motion lulls--my anxious thoughts depart.
We wander, but we know the way by heart
For I was caught by night, but moonlight shines
o'er hoarfrost-painted flowers on the pines
It's nearly silent, daylight's din is gone
save padding fox feet, snow break, night bird’s song
Far down the path I know where you will wait
with arms outstretched to draw me through the gate
Copyright © Debra Robillard | Year Posted 2010
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