My eloquent beast and metal and rubber is sat idle stalled in her pen,

She has been cleaned, prepared, check and adored and is ready for her day of action,

She is prepared and I am found wanting,

I, am not there,

My boots are dry and warm,

My gloves have no fingers to complete them,

My ipod sits quiet, unwanted,

The road is alone,

Trails with out a friend,

Fields and tracks, all cold and crisp only have each other,

The crunch of tyre of frozen ground is a sound not heard today,

Time slips by and the light wains unable to support this day,

The time has gone the chance wasted,

No riding be done today,

For I am at work, chained to my desk,

The white collar, a shackle to my neck,

8 of 50 years served,

The dream of trails, the joy of decent, the glory of climbs conquered,

For such dreams, dreams shall remain until the day is done.


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