rubbed green beauty of steel
and wheels, gears and rubber,
british, upright, noble, elderly
solid friend of forty plus years.
we started out together almost,
riding parish routes on miles of
tree lined pavements through
five slippery gears.
we look quaint together now,
older both, I with a helmet I
never would have dreamed of
and a broader saddle of my own.
your tires so thin I barely dare
fill them to the pressure listed
in fear of burst, measure my
own laboring pumps.
bumps and scrapes mark us,
yet there is nobility and
strength, clean lines and the
grace of an earlier clearer time