My wife when young found her thrill

Riding bicycle down Washer Hill…

Flying down that road

Angels are owed

Credit for preventing a spill!

All these years, I thought it was dirt,

Like the road down to Aunt Myrt’s…

Had visions of rocks

Being avoided–no shocks–

Now she claims it was paved, not that adverse.

She still says downhill she was flying,

Feeling free for the moment from crying…

Fear in her life

Cut like a knife,

But her love of bike riding–undying.

Other moments on her bike were tense,

When she wiped out under an electric fence…

Which she did regularly

Until learning turns safely

From their driveway with much less suspense!


–Jonathan Caswell



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