Hand Holding

See these gloves that held my hand
on horses, through bluebells,
frozen in the dawn light,
When the sun crept through,
and the mist lifted enough,
To dance above the dew.

Hear those grunts coming from those horses?
hooves treading, hand-holding,
Scarves in the forest,
When the sun led us,
And the mist lifted enough,
To rest around the dew.

See the hand that holds these bluebells?
on horses, with red gloves,
frozen in the memory,
As the sun creeps through,
And I throw them in,
Before the hole gets covered up.