Century Rider

His daily commute,
A regular route,
Astride his bike,
A ride to like.

Then weekends came
With more of the same
Riding a “century”,
An adventurer, he.

It came to an end
On a road with no bend
His joy is now hushed,
By a car he was crushed.

But where is the moral,
The memorial laurel?
At bad drivers, I’m pissed.
Patrick, you will be missed!

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