Still on the horse theme, a golden shovel based on a line from one of my favourite poems, The Listeners by Walter de la Mare.
Still listening
Why did they wait and never answer, and
why was the night so still, his
voice as pale as the coat of his horse
left grazing beneath the trees? In
a pool of moonlight, cool with dew, the
house walls, lapped in silence,
listened for voices, while night horse champed,
the stillness stirred by the
wings of a bird risen from the grasses.
With a cry, an owl flew from a window of
the shadow house in the
trees, flew into the listening forest’s
dark while echoes, ferny-
plumed as ghosts, sank into the grassy floor.