Hardware's hardly an issue, with trikes of both sexes,
Plus a lot of odd bikes; no division infects us,
And we don't regard riders on uprights as fungus.
No resentment by those who are youngest among us
Of us guys who are clearly no longer Spring chickens,
Though we fall far behind when the group's tempo quickens...
And not all of the folks at the rear are past forty.
Though some hate to climb hills, others think that it's sporty.

There are only two things that this group has in common:
One's that we love to ride, whether dawdlin' or bombin'
And the second is this – most of us like each other...
There are moments, of course, when like sister and brother,
Someone wishes, perhaps, that we'd spend less time talking,
But that hasn't resulted in anyone walking.
For the most part, it seems that we're largely delighted
When we greet the whole gang, and nobody gets slighted.

We're all differ, of course, on a whole lot of issues,
But I don't think we'll see someone grabbing for tissues
As the tears start to fall; you won't see someone crying
Just because she's a vegan and some oaf's defying
Her beliefs by enjoying a thick slab of bacon.
She is her, he is him, and the point that I'm makin':
It's okay to be you, and to all let each other
Be whoever he is, and to not be his mother.

There are hundreds of issues that separate people;
But there's more to a church than a sharp-pointed steeple.
Our group isn't bonded by stringent restrictions,
And there's more to each person than narrow convictions.
If a guy's been arrested... that might make us worry.
(No, I'm kidding, of course, I should say in a hurry.)
But the point is there's no single issue dividing
Our group in two halves; we just focus on riding.

POW Index