Patches cover a biker,s vest.From the neckline to the tail.Writing a story of his life at best.And the trails met along life,s trails. Some may show his warrior heart.Others remembering friends gone by.Political statements are also apart,Alas this story misses the non-biker,s eyes.Leather-clad people who pass you by,Greeted only with nervouness and quick stares.Are out escorting heroes home on thier rides,Back to thier loved ones who truly care.You never see are arrival at home,Where we also have families and lives.Nor our rides collecting money and toys,To enlighten underpriviledged children,s.Christmas morning eyes.We also take care of our brothers, and sisters who are down,By riding things called poker runs.No matter the weather our bikes will abound,Pouring rain or blazing sun.The next time we approach a hello or smile would be nice,A thank you would be the best.For another human is in sight,Beating proudly beneath that vest. this poem is by Larry O.me and my husband are riders people seem to for get about us.we lost friends on runs because a vehcle does not see them.we are also apart of the shrines group out of oklahoma.but we live in texas.so when you see a biker-rider just smile and wave.because ten to one they are on a poker run.for some charity...thanks for reading this if you come across it.it really means alot..sillylilcat
