The chances that I’ll ride a bike through winter’s chilly slush
Are the same as being dealt in poker a straight flush.
For when the flakes start falling and the wind is sharp and keen,
Riding in the open is too much for any Green.
The icy path, the lumpy snow, the puddles just half froze --
These will keep me in my car, and not upon my toes.
Bundled up in layers thick, a scarf around my face,
I’ve no inclination a cold bicycle to race.
When they invent velocipedes that cushion me with air
That is warm and cozy I will peddle without care.
But till the lilacs are in bud and robins poke the ground,
I will find more balmy ways to make my daily round!
No comments:
Post a Comment