Golden Days

Each day was an un-wristwatched dream,
and life a country road,
with grasses swaying in the bike's slipstream
just the need to move a big goad.

Since then, I have been around
helmeted, jacketed, expedition-minded,
sometimes innocence was lost, somewhere ego found,
and now, even dreams are road-map lined.

Magic still happens, I still get to ride,
sometimes things just fall in place,
at others, I throttle back and a better time bide,
and face the daily rat race.

But back there's something I see,
behind me, in my years past,
the golden days of childish glee
and those are memories that will always last.