Riding Through Cold Weather
The coming of autumnal fronts do tell
Of what a rider has by way of will.
Things fall apart profusely with the cold
And first-chilled stone-white fingers growing old.
Gloves prepare but neither tame nor mend
The winter wind which comes as flame on skin.
A burning ice of fire from Nature’s Breath
Measured out in miles to ransom Death.
Still, we ride and pedal forward on
Like mice in frozen cages writ anon.
No one but us will know the roads we sweep
Or count the countless miles before we sleep.
They will not know the lanes and miles we traveled
Before the sun of summer’s fun unravelled.
They will not see the paths on paths we groomed
Before the Solstice sky found cold and gloom.
But never will a rider’s heart betray
The rise and falling of the time of day,
Nor soul of Solstice pedaler faintly weep.
For know we all the Winter sun
Shall someday rise up from its sleep.
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