Tour de France poem
BlackHope
Posts: 14
Hey, i didnt know where else to put this, so I put it in here for all you new'uns to read!
Tour de France
It was a sweltering mrning,
and in the sweet sunshine
Hundreds of cars proceede,
upon a narrow line.
At the front a group
Of bikes pristine and new
Jostling for position
But carefully thinking through
Men had waited lifetimes,
Just to have the chance
To join the race of champions,
Le bon, Le tour de France
Backupteams were waiting,
Waiting in the wings,
To take the men their rations,
Water and other 'things'
The hum of their tyres,
And other expensive bits,
Rolling over soft smooth road,
Sitting on their seats,
The first attack had started,
The training just kicked in,
The peloton worked in unison,
Andrelled them swiftly in,
Stage one concluded with a bang,
In a sprint towards the line,
Yellow for the victor,
Others small decline.
But, alredy their were talks,
EPO and drugs,
Shattering the limelight,
Working with the thugs,
But nothing did prevail,
The audience blind-eyed,
But what about the riders,
What secrets did they hide?
Stage two was precise,
The peloton were on key,
But it seemed some men were keen,
To ride but not be seen,
Le malliot jeune was stuck,
Seconds were intwined
Men were keen to find,
The perfect racing line,
Stage three and four were similar,
The men were racing hard,
But next there were the mountains,
Silently standing guard.
Mount Ventoux was glistening,
In the summer showers
As men danced upon her hills,
Rinding for many a hour.
The mountains knocked many,
Up and off their bikes that day.
But most of them kept going.
Some critics forced to say.
'That this years race was shambolic'
Yes they were forced to say
That 'People should of lost thier jobs,
At minimum there pay'
The final stage was drawing,
Ever closer, and at speed,
Men were over exhausted
But still they had to lead.
In the end, the final stage,
Was not very fast,
But Yellow, Green and Polka Dot
Really had a blast
In a blur of coulour
The finish line was crossed
And looking back its ahrd to see
What was won and lost.
By BlackHope
Tour de France
It was a sweltering mrning,
and in the sweet sunshine
Hundreds of cars proceede,
upon a narrow line.
At the front a group
Of bikes pristine and new
Jostling for position
But carefully thinking through
Men had waited lifetimes,
Just to have the chance
To join the race of champions,
Le bon, Le tour de France
Backupteams were waiting,
Waiting in the wings,
To take the men their rations,
Water and other 'things'
The hum of their tyres,
And other expensive bits,
Rolling over soft smooth road,
Sitting on their seats,
The first attack had started,
The training just kicked in,
The peloton worked in unison,
Andrelled them swiftly in,
Stage one concluded with a bang,
In a sprint towards the line,
Yellow for the victor,
Others small decline.
But, alredy their were talks,
EPO and drugs,
Shattering the limelight,
Working with the thugs,
But nothing did prevail,
The audience blind-eyed,
But what about the riders,
What secrets did they hide?
Stage two was precise,
The peloton were on key,
But it seemed some men were keen,
To ride but not be seen,
Le malliot jeune was stuck,
Seconds were intwined
Men were keen to find,
The perfect racing line,
Stage three and four were similar,
The men were racing hard,
But next there were the mountains,
Silently standing guard.
Mount Ventoux was glistening,
In the summer showers
As men danced upon her hills,
Rinding for many a hour.
The mountains knocked many,
Up and off their bikes that day.
But most of them kept going.
Some critics forced to say.
'That this years race was shambolic'
Yes they were forced to say
That 'People should of lost thier jobs,
At minimum there pay'
The final stage was drawing,
Ever closer, and at speed,
Men were over exhausted
But still they had to lead.
In the end, the final stage,
Was not very fast,
But Yellow, Green and Polka Dot
Really had a blast
In a blur of coulour
The finish line was crossed
And looking back its ahrd to see
What was won and lost.
By BlackHope
No Pain, No Glory
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