With the greatest of ease
I wrote this poem for my son. He hears the sound of the motors roar, That's the sound he's learned to adore. All you can see is his eyes through the mask, Covered with mud, from the mud covered track. The faster he goes the more thrill he gets, Going around the corners, he knows just where to sit. He jumps the mound with the greatest of ease, He's made good time, so with himself he's very pleased. He continues around trying to beat the time, Always thinking of the next hill he wants to climb. Debra DeLong March 15,2001March 152001, Written November 11th, 2001 © on Nov 10 2001 08:42 PM PST 0 • 10
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"I wrote this poem for my son...."