Blue is its hue and darkness brings its feast,
Empty roads, desolate bridges
All so neglected, all easy meat.
The timid world has felt itself choke,
On the snarling engine and through the glowering smoke,
Pass as it must, by gently sleeping homes,
Never a trace of peace where the creature roams.
Tram tracks glint in the yellow sodium light,
Potholes await in vain to trap the surging might
The wind is an adversary persistent and curt
The road is a ribbon waiting for the spurt.
A motorcycle but it is to the eyes of the world,
Yet are jealous looks cast, and swear words hurled
What if anything could provoke such animosity?
It's because on a motorbike, you ride away from reality.