The Irish word for poet
is "File".
This always fascinates me
Because it reminds me of a youthful horse
(The filly)
Pushing the boundaries
And stumbling on awkward legs
Being
not the most majestic
But the one who discovers
Joy and passion
and vibrancy
in every action of life.

When just putting
one foot in front of the other(s)
is a deed as majestic
As galloping
Like a knight with surmounting pride
Or a night with no end,
It's indeed a gift
of youth and innocence.

Like the old mare,
We may bear wrinkles.
Like the war horse,
We have our battle scars.

But we are the “File”.
And we have something to say.

and we will forever be
infinite
in our hoof beats
and our heart beats.