Found this on a machinists' forum I frequent. -js
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Broken Down on a Snowy Winter's Eve (with apologies to Robert Frost)
Whose bike this is I think I know.
But he's is drunk and sleeping, so;
He will not see me stopping here
To siphon off some gas to go.
My shovelhead is prone, I fear
To stop without a gas pump near
Between the wood and frozen lake
So far from home without a beer.
It shuts down hard and gives a shake
As if to rub in my mistake.
The only other sound's the weep
Of fluid dripping from my brake.
My pocket's empty, dark, and deep,
But I have gas enough to keep
Me rolling miles before I sleep,
So many miles before I sleep.
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