The Blizzard


Our Poem

Gone blue skies of summer, golden vistas of the fall,
Now echoing through the forest the blizzard's eerie call.
Shadows of the night steal the last warm ray,
Soft and gently falling snow comes before the day.
Blanketing the prairie as plain and mountain blend
And winter takes a hold as muffled hooves descend
To shelter in the stockade until the wind blows mild
And they return once more in spring, running free and wild

Verse by Mary Lascelles

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