Of course, it’s got to be
Better not to dwell on it;
But we’re all going
To lose it one day.
He shouldn’t know it,
This head-down young charger,
Won’t know it until it ambushes him,
But his day is today.
The moment fast coming at him
Like the long corners he habitually
Leans into. Next turn the road will
Refuse his touch, will not, for
The first time catch his drift.
He will be lost while in
The orange distances beyond
The race, the crowds, the roar
Plough-curried hills depend on
Thunder-muscled clouds.
Histories have always been
Written by the harvesters.
Histories have always been written by the harvesters. So true
Jim
I was watching a Moto GP race on TV … and became fascinated by the fields in the background; inspired the poem, though I am never certain where the words come from.