Like a yearling in the field chasing their peers and learning how to run, so is my life.
Lots of hiccups and bumps on the road to learn how to run wholeheartedly with the wind.
Injuries that tear at my tender limbs with each heartfelt stride.
Those moments of wind lifting you with flames,
Your chest is filled with icy, cool air that pierces the tender heart.
Each powerful stride leads you closer to the finish line of that big race.
New muscles push through your glossy sides as you work out your young body.
Soft hoofs not quite hardened by running down that hard track toward the end.
Bucks, bites, and kicks when rushes of young blood flood your body,
The enlightened fighting spirit grows rising flames to run, run, and run to the end of time.
A yearling so strong but so vulnerable at the cusp of breathing flames.
Running, running, running, each heartbeat of bright flaming nostrils.
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