Biker's Day

On this day, under skies so blue,

The thunder of motors murmurs, clearly and valid,

An orchestra of force, coarseness, and pride,

Reverberations of the street where dreams impact.

The biker's way, a lace of steel,

Twists through valleys, under the wheel,

Across mountains high, through backwoods profound,

On vast expressways, where the wild breezes clear.

Cowhide clad knights, on horses of chrome,

Each street, each path, feels like home.

They vanquish the black-top, immovable and free,

A fraternity limited by the street's pronouncement.

The excursion's more than miles they track,

It's the narratives lived, the blood they've drained.

From dawn light to the sunset,

The street goes on, never really finished.

Each diversion, a story to tell,

Of quiet evenings, and motor's swell,

Of the breezes that whip, the downpour that falls,

Furthermore, the open street that eternity calls.

Opportunity's not tracked down in that frame of mind ahead,

However, in the ride, the existence they've driven.

The choke curves, the motor thunders,

They pursue skylines, everlastingly more.

On this Biker's Day, they accumulate as one,

To respect the ride and the streets they've turned,

With each fire up, with each cheer,

They praise the opportunity they hold dear.

So here's to the riders, the wild and free,

Who live for the street, forever,

May their tires turn and their spirits fly,

Under open streets and an unending sky.