Winter Repose

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Snow ghosts wafted across the field;The grape vines offered little shield.Towards the river they were bound, Chased by a lost hunting hound.

It gave the geese a terrible fright, And as if together they took flight. But then the ghosts took to ground

And the hound made a circle round.

It headed west straight away

As if it had finally found its way

Back to the field from which it came, A little slower and a little lame.

The sun is setting scarlet for sureAs I give ol' Jack a light prick of spur.I hope to get back to the stable all right

Before the early onset of night.