Day on day and year on
year
Night and morn and eve,
I ride on in from there
to here,
Because here my bike I
leave
It's not special, that
space of mine
Under tree, by the
stand,
And it's not that I
wish to whine,
But there's history
there, between me and land
That's the spot for
which I aim,
Where my charge is
secure,
And though I cannot
leave my name,
I leave something else
for sure
So if on that loop of
steel you see
A lock that seems
forgot,
Please roll on by and
think of me
And please don't nick
my spot.
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