Early every weekday morning
with the dew still on the grass
way off in the distance
I hear a tiny blast.
Then a steady, soft purr follows,
he's on his way, at last.
It,s "Michigan Mike" a big ole' boy,
he ran away from home.
From all the ice and snow and cold.
for a soft, sweet place to roam.
No more scraping sidewalks
or freezing off his nose.
No more itchy long handles
or heavy, thick, big clothes.
Your in the land of sunshine brother;
ride that bike with joy.
This is what you wanted
since you were just a lean, young boy.
But, always remember on your rides;
someone, somewhere loves you.
she thinks about you often,
and wants to run away too.
Copyright © Gail Blakeley | Year Posted 2016