Past the South Bank Feild

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.

 

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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