Another year changed, turbulent and wild. Where the horses are born, stallions galop into the horizon to be burnt by the evening sun. A word more, a word less, does it matter when you think about the progress?
"If all else fails you can still whip the horses eye"
I'm not sure if I whipped it, but reborn I was.
Another year closer to death ;-)
For those who like my poetry, here's a work you will love :-)
This is Not About What You Think