Dancing through the drifts

Tumbling down the hills

Running trough the streets

What a wonderful thing to feel

The Chill on thy skin

The wind through thy mane

Without such an experience

Would life be the same?

Would the giving be there?

Would the lightness be in our hearts?

Would the mare feel the same

If this time never starts?

Snow under ebon’ hooves

Dancing socked feet

Floating, flexible barrel

Such grace, what a feat!

Flicking sorrel tassel and banner

The color of Holiday fills the air

At every intricate bow

One would have to stair

Chestnut vaulted nape

White blazed head

It would be long before

Her winter coat would shed

Shining golden optics

Glowed from beneath her mane

This beautiful maiden…

Bow was her name