Ride
The last bike ride of summer
carries me once more into my youth.
Then I had places to go; each stroke
of the pedals carried me toward new destinations.
Now I have only the sun
and the memories I pass along my way.
Stephen Brooke ©2025
As more than a few of my poems, composed in my head as I took my morning ride. The longer they get, the harder it gets to remember them!
