On a Long Open Road out West

By Andrew R. Duckworth

Some days, I think about a bike
Roaring down the long dusty road,
Riding into the desert sun.
Can’t tell you why I want the wings
Of a bald eagle flying high.
But those pipes roar spirit freedom.
Not a care flowing through my mind,
Because I left them all behind
As I ride into the setting sun.
Call me dreamer or call me fool,
I’m no stranger to breaking rules,
And I’d ride into the setting sun.

On a long open road out west,
But that’s just a daydream at best.