11 apr 8

poetry

   the bike of my youth was

brilliant

green

          regardless of where it was taken

   with pedals stout for legs

eager

stop

          to jump left from right around again

 

   now it is sleek and made

moving

fast

          granting newly tempted with fervor:

   it may pedal back though

cruelly

so

          as it hurls forward and further

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