A Fresh Gravel Metric

The county road crew laughs and sneers
Dumping fresh limestone loose and deep
To the sound of wild farm dog cheers
Atop the hill so steep.

And on up the climb 2 riders huff
Bestowing praise to the barking hound
Fighting for traction on roads so rough
And hoping for peace atop the mound.

A breath of relief, just an overweight pup
And happy to share his land.
Looks like an easy ride towards the cup
Fine if not a bit bland. 

When out from under the porch is shot
A white fur missile, low and fast.
Locked on target and coming in hot
This metric may be the riders’ last. 

Up on the pedals giving it all
Desperate to get away.
They barely escape the ravenous jaw
Of the terrible bichon frise.



Cup O'Dirt Admin

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