WD40's Companion

September 12, 2016

    The bicycle holds up the skies

   Pedals move, give life to wheels,
    Handlebars a projective destination,
   Brings beauty to the outside dim.
    Reversing oiled chain, and brakes are glued,
   Revolving wheels a steady limb,
    Fates of death, turned around.
   Arrival where the sky needs to breathe,
    Repeat the process, round again,
   Keep on going, don’t rust within,
     I am the sky,
              The bicycle, will never die

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