Purple Lady Poetry

You cycled through life
Uncaring of weather or convention.
The daily trek to work;
A place you didn’t want to be.
Perhaps your mind still cycled
During those office bound days.

Come the age of freedom
You cycled ever further.
Maybe seeking to outrun the past.
With fierce intent you explored
The little unknown ways;
Your friend beside you
To punctuate silence.
At dusk you’d stagger in
Wearing exhaustion as a badge.
Legs scratched and burnt.
Conformity beaten once more.

Inner tubes, wheels,
Nuts and bolts are your legacy.
Testament to oily hands and
Garden path obstructed
With upturned bikes.
Recycling the aim.
It was never just about
Going from A to B.

You haunt the roads around with
Swift flickers of yellow jacket
And sound of wheels on gravel.
Garden gate scraping and
Washing line bouncing
As the back fence sways untethered.
Wheeling the bike up the path;
Your fluent movement gone.

Now, here, at the end of the road
We acknowledge your journey.
One more unknown path to travel.
This is the cycle of life.