A cyclist named Phil with glee, Rode his bike down a windy-swept tree. He took flight for a bit, Then landed in a ditch, But emerged with a grin, “Just a breeze for me!”

The Race

The dawn cracks, steel frames gleam in the light, Lycra warriors, hearts burning bright. Helmets strapped, a tense, vibrant hum, Legs coiled tight, the race will come.

A starting pistol, a thunderous boom, A blur of colors, defying the gloom. Pedals churning, a symphony strong, Muscles scream, a relentless song.

Down winding roads, a blur and a flash, Pushing limits, a desperate dash. Wheels whisper secrets, the tarmac sings low, A dance of danger, where victory can grow.

Through sun-dappled fields, a chromatic display, Sweat stinging eyes, they push on all day. A breakaway surges, a daring escape, Strategy unfolds, a tactical drape.

The final climb, a test of the soul, Burning lungs, a fire takes hold. One by one, the peloton frays, Only the strongest see through the haze.

A final descent, a blur in the sight, The finish line beckons, bathed in golden light. A desperate lunge, a photo finish so tight, Victory or defeat, on this glorious fight.

Across the line, a gasp and a cheer, Exhaustion and triumph, a mixture so clear. The fallen rise, muscles screaming in pain, But the fire still burns, to race once again.

The winner

Steel steed a blur, a lone figure flies, Victor’s crown etched in sweat-streaked skies. Legs like pistons, a heart that won’t tire, Across the finish, a soul set afire.

From peloton’s pack, a single light broke, A silent challenge, a strength that awoke. Muscles burning, a furnace within, Pushing past limits, where will could begin.

Through sun-drenched valleys and wind-whipped plains, A relentless pursuit, erasing all strains. Gears screaming high, a symphony bold, A story of courage, in silence untold.

Now, arms raised high, a champion’s might, Victory’s embrace in the fading light. Panting breaths turn to cheers loud and strong, A testament whispered, where they all belong.

This isn’t just triumph, a ribbon, a prize, It’s the spirit that conquers, the will that will rise. For in every pedal, a battle they fought, And the winner’s the one who pushed till it caught.

So etch their name deep, in the annals of fame, The victor who conquered, the fire they’ll claim. For the heart of a champion, forever will beat, A testament whispered, on wheels bittersweet.

Ode to a cyclist

With helmet donned and pedals strong, You greet the dawn with joyous song. A steed of steel, a loyal friend, Together you conquer, journey’s no end.

Through city streets, a ribbon you weave, Dodging horns, a life you believe In freedom’s wind, a world seen anew, Each turn a brushstroke, painted in blue.

On open roads, where fields unfold, Legs pumping stories, brave and bold. Muscles that ache, a sweet, burning fire, Pushing limits, reaching ever higher.

You are the whisper, the silent machine, A blur of motion, a racing scene. Sun-kissed skin and wind-tangled hair, A smile that speaks of a life beyond care.

More than wheels on asphalt that fly, You are the symbol of reaching for the sky. A champion of health, a warrior of green, The cyclist’s spirit, a beautiful scene.

So raise a hand, a silent salute, To the rhythm of pedals, a resolute pursuit. For in your journey, we see a light, A love for the world, and the pure joy of flight.