Dodging puddles, potholes, sodden leaves,
A tortoise shell on my back.
Biking amidst autumn morning rush,
Breathing builds the heat I lack.
Traversing intersections blithely,
The hums of hares feel neural.
Hot tails fussing at my sterling air,
But yet I have no quarrel.
Such is the journey of the moments
They’ve lost in their steel cages;
Void of musky breeze or sprinkle’s rain,
No leaves from nature’s pages.
Slipping off my shell, I join the race;
It’s not bad, except sometimes.
The hares hop and stop, vie for a spot.
My heart is full, life sublime.