When I was about 20, I had a red Honda CB360. (mmm...lucky me aye?)
Anyway its (UK) rego ended in the letters WLE so it was nicknamed "Willy".
It lived outside my front door on the garden path. Don't ask me why, but I wrote this poem about the joys of riding. I don't think I could sleep that night. Here goes...
Twas every morn at nine o'clock I'd venture out to see
If Willy's wet, or cold, or damp...would he still start for me?
A button pressed, his pistons fire, he bursts straight into life.
Emitting grunts, and groans, and snorts...just like a loving wife
When all my gear and lid are donned, I'd set off in the cold
Then shrinkage starts between my legs...a story often told.
The trip to work in winter time can really be a bind
And wind and rain and snotty face can really blow your mind
In contrast though in summer time, the run can be a thrill
And many pleasures have I had tween home and Muswell Hill
A passenger is fun to have...a girl if you are wise
Her arms grip tightly round your waist, your bum against her thighs
Exhileration turns them on...in fact they go quite silly
And tales are told in office chats of riding my red willy.
QED.
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Originally Posted by MyGSXF
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