That first rush without training wheels
can't be described with words.
At the bottom of the hill
a skinned knee was your reward.
Still you trudge back up and
try it again.
This time you are wiser
maybe this time you won't fall.
Once mastered it becomes boring
and the thrill of the ride is gone.
The lonely bike rests
at the back of the garage.
Until one day it is rediscovered.
A bit of air in the tire and it's good as new.
Wind racing though your hair again
once more the magic starts.
-SGR
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