In the hush of January frost,
The pale mare treads where shadows lost.
Her mane tangled with icicle stars,
She whispers old songs of scars.
February bends the frozen trees,
They creak like bones in winter’s breeze.
The mare bows low to the earth so still,
And hums the secrets of the hill.
March awakens in dripping streams,
A chorus of snow’s fading dreams.
The mare leaps high through misty rain,
Her hooves beat tales of loss and gain.
April blooms with gentle rain,
She runs through fields of tender grain.
Whispers of rebirth cling to her mane,
And green shoots crawl from the thawing plain.
May hums in meadows, bright and wide,
The mare leaps where violets hide.
The air is sweet, the day is long,
And she hums an ever-ancient song.
June drips sunlight like golden honey,
Warmth fills the days so thick and sunny.
Through forest shadows, deep and green,
She gallops where the world has been.
July roars with thunder across the sky,
Lightning dances, clouds drift high.
The mare bows to the summer storm,
Her spirit wild, untamed, and warm.
August fields bend beneath the breeze,
She wanders past the buzzing bees.
Ripe earth heavy, rivers full,
She drinks the currents, pure and cool.
September leaves turn fire and gold,
The mare trots slow through hills grown old.
She hums of harvest, endings near,
And songs of earth she longs to hear.
October fog creeps through haunted glades,
She moves beneath the amber shades.
Autumn breathes on her every stride,
Between life and death, she cannot hide.
November mornings, mist and bare,
She whispers tales into cold air.
Spirits gather as nights grow long,
And she hums the mournful, solemn song.
December snow falls soft, a silver veil,
The mare trots where the moon is pale.
Through all the months she’s wandered wide,
Now rests beneath the starry tide.
13.10.2025
