One midnight deep in starlight still
I dreamed that I recieved this bill:
I think it's nice that SpyderLovers suddenly opened up a poets corner. It would be especially good if some bard hereabouts could be persuaded to pen a few lines expressing the pleasure of Spyder riding, or related topics.
The mysterious trike.
I was driving along in the warm light of day
When I espied a three-wheeler goin' the opposite way
Intrigued, I hand-braked, turned my car right around
All four wheels sliding, not gripping the ground
Then I took off on that trike-rider's tail
Dirt flying up from that dusty old trail.
I wish I could tell you that before driving far
I'd seen him pulled over at a roadside bar,
Where I'd stopped, got out, shared a jug of cold beer
With the rider of the trike who had guided me here.
But the truth of the matter, I now must relate
Is stranger than fiction, weirder than fate
And I never met up with my trike-mounted mate.
Speeding along fast, through a dust cloud sent flyin'
Set off my asthma until I felt I was dyin'.
For mile after mile, then the dust suddenly cleared.
He should have been there. But he'd gone. Disappeared.
I believe not in demons, nor things that aren't true
Like goblins, or trikers, casting dark spells on you.
I live in the real world, the world of Can-Am
Where all mysteries are known, (at least that's their plan).
But I'd love to know what happened, the day I gave chase,
Losing a trike in a dust cloud means I also lose face.
So it isn't very often I recall the weird tale
Of the trike that vanished on that dusty old trail.
pps:
