The Last Ride - Drag Racer

Motor oil was in his blood,
Petrol flowing through his heart.
Throttle reving but the flood,
Meant his engine wouldn't start.

The exhaust sounding rather rough,
Its noise as cutting as a knife.
The gallant spark not quite enough,
To fire his engine into life.

The key was turned, the throttle pushed,
Expecting now a cracking roar,
But the engine ... knackered ... bushed,
Wouldn't function any more.

The driver, (insert name), has died but still,
His soul rides onward to the west.
His wheels roll ahead, vale and hill,
To the winner’s circle-- eternal rest.

So we'll venture on with pride,
Remembering well the one who died.
Towards the sunset on our road,
Our dear friend who's gone before.

The above poem was adapted by the Son of a Father who had been a drag-racer in his younger days.
Adapted with permission from the poem “Biker”
Biker © 2010 Dick Underwood
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