Out of the fog came the past
Hooves clinking with fine iron
Shapes of horses, swirling in a windless
Sea of grey, like a veil drawn over the
Stage of life; in my heart the hoof beats,
The heart beats, and the world sees not.
The seagulls cry longing for their cliffs,
As winter is to all creatures a hard time.
The snorts, the clatter, the silence too,
The time does not matter, closely now
The thunder of the race they gallop on,
The mist clears my vision fades
There is nothing but the sun.
Caroline Baldock © 2016