Stole this to make little smile for us riders...
An Ode to St. Chrome-It
(The patron saint of Goldwings)
T’was in the evenings twilight.
And the night was covered in stars.
Not a Goldwing was alight,
Not even the Harley’s at the bars.
The accessories were hung by the work-bench with care,
In hopes that St. Chrome-It would soon be there;
The little back seat riders were all snug in their beds,
As visions of rally pins danced in their heads;
While mamma in her new chapter vest and I in my color matched helmet
Had just settled down for the next seasons session of map it,
When out on the drive way we heard a quiet engine mummer,
I sprang from the mapping program to see what was the matter.
Away to the garage I flew in a twinkle,
Tore open my pocket to give automatic garage door a jingle.
The security-light’s glare,
Gave the glitter of mid-day to the objects parked there,
When, what to my wandering eyes should appear,
But a miniature Goldwing, with a color matched trailer.
Editorial comment:
A Candy Apple Red GL1500 is it.
With tasteful chrome accents on it.
After all, nothing but the best for St Chrome-It.
The little old rider, was so quick and competent,
I knew in an instant it,
Must be St. Chrome-It.
More quietly than embossed eagles his engine it came,
And he whistled, and whispered, and called his pistons by name;
"Fire now, piston 1! Now, piston 4! Fire now, piston 5 and piston 2!
Fire on piston 3! Piston 6! Fire on!
Over the sprinkler system and across the lawn
When an obstacle he met, his engine he’d rev and a wheelie he’d do.
So up to the garage-top he flew,
Author’s note: after we must give the GL 1500 its’ due.
With a trailer full of chromed bike toys and St. Chrome-It too.
Then, in a jiffy, on the roof of the carport
I heard the chrome-plated kickstand click and report.
As I drew back my hand, and was turning around,
In through the exhaust vent St. Chrome-It came with a bound.
He was all dressed safety from his helmet to his boot.
On his color matched ballistic there was no soot.
Nor was there a mar on his helmet or boot.
(Except for the shift scuff on the top of his left foot.)
A bundle of Chrome bike toys, he had flung on his back,
He looked like a rally vendor just opening his pack.
His mirrored face shield was ratcheted up into place.
He had a round little belly and happy face.
He was chubby and plump,
Because of exercise he got waiting at Diary Queen’s ice cream pump.
And I laughed when I saw this jolly old elf,
Fore he reminded me so much of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his gear,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to fear,
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
Chromed all the accessories; and then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his helmet,
To his face shield he gave a click,
Up through the exhaust vent he sprang real quick;
Across his Goldwing his leg he swung.
Then his kickstand he un-sprung.
With the flick of his wrist,
To his throttle he gave a twist,
As he drove away,
I heard his stereo play,
“I Did It My Way”
And I heard him say.
"Happy Christmas to all! Keep it shinny!
Nana
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