Past the South Bank Field
A meadow so quiet you can hear each snowflake
land, as it hits the crisp glistening snow top.
A sky so clear even the stars
reflect off the blurry ground
and the silver bright light of the moon
cascaded in iridescent beams, over the frozen meadow.
A mellow creature stands in that field,
a golden mystic aura surrounding him.
He, the stallion of the land guards his herd
in the bitter midnight air. Black mane
shimmers blue in the moonlight.
He will guard his land, this beautiful magic meadow.