By Bruce Arnold

I ride mine, for a motorcycle's
Meant to ride, you see;
Not hauled around by trailer,
I keep rubber on the street.

I ride mine like the warriors old
And charge into the fray;
Or just to twist the throttle hard,
And blow my cares away.

I ride mine through the winter cold,
And springtime shower's squall;
Bake in summer sun, then make for
Sturgis near the fall.

I ride mine come the glare of day
Or the darkest cool of night;
Two wheels is how I travel, never
Caged, or bound in flight.

I ride mine 'cross the country,
Touring cities, counties, states;
Distant mountains, valleys lure,
Wherever asphalt takes.

I ride mine for the friendship of
My brothers in the wind;
Some no name, yet have my back,
On me they can depend.

I ride mine for the freedom found
On open, winding roads;
Pure exhilaration, with each
Turn, as curve unfolds.

My life is in the saddle 'till
I meet my mortal end;
Then through the gates of Heaven
Or Hell, I ride mine once again.