O Bicycle! my Bicycle! I bid thee farewell.
O Bicycle! my Bicycle! our fearful trip is done,
Your wheels have weather’d every rock, together we had such fun,
Our destination drew near, your bells I could hear, all the people waved,
While eyes followed your steady frame, the trail we sought was blazed;
But O skin! skin! skin!
O the braised patches on shin,
Where on the curb your Rider dreads,
Fallen, hit, glad to not be dead.
O Bicycle! my Bicycle! take off and ring your bell;
Take off—for you let my freedom fly—for you enable my will,
For you no chains and tightened locks—for you the streets a-crowding,
At you they call, the honking horns, surprised are the faces turning;
Here Bicycle! my dear pal!
These hands clung to your rail!
Tis true that we have traveled far,
Only now do you rest your bars.
My Bicycle does not answer, his rims are pale and still,
My cohort does not feel my hands, he has no pulse nor will,
Your wheels now rest, safe and sound, our voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip this bicycle comes, complete is the race we’ve run;
Exult O roads, and ring O bells!
But I with stories to tell,
Ride the streets my Bicycle treads,
With both my heart and head.
A reinterpretation of Walt Whitman’s, “O Captain! my Captain!”
