Oh motorbike motorbike why won’t you start?
My trusty stead is broken and may need a new part
What do I do to fix it?
The neighbours hear me squawk
As I set about trying to mend it,
I wish my bike could talk
It’s just a machine some say but I see it as my friend
On them sunny days in the countryside riding and leaning in a bend
Forty nine is not too old
But it probably is for some
As I’m afraid it’s too much a part of me
That ridding in the sun
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem