The Horses

I climbed through woods in the hour-before-dawn dark. Evil air, a frost-making stillness, Not a leaf, not a bird - A world cast in frost. I came out above the wood Where my breath left tortuous statues in the iron light. But the valleys were draining the darkness Till the moorline - blackening dregs of the brightening grey - Halved the sky ahead. And I saw the horses: Huge in the dense grey - ten together - Megalith-still. They breathed, making no move, with draped manes and tilted hind-hooves… More information...

User:	Karen Piper
Page:	terence-anzac-piper.webnode.com (?)