The h2g2 Poem
Created | Updated Dec 30, 2011
Ghost Bike
She rode in search of an ideal,
Changing the world for better,
A fragile moth rising to light.
She died by the road side like a cat,
Sacrificed to the unchallenged power
Of our motorised world.
A white bike rose from the grass
To float as a ghost beside the road’s
Roaring maelstrom.
A wreath of wire and flowers,
Each spoke fired an arrow
From the hearts of mourning parents.
No–one could find time or money
To provide signs for idealists,
But workmen removed the bike.
Poetry and Stories by minorvogonpoet Archive
