On His Bike Poem by Matt Mooney

A boy upon a new bike of his own
That day as he cycled from home:
It might have been his own chariot
And he could have been a Ben Hur.

He was cycling out into the country
To go to see some ponies he loved;
He was happy to be out on his own,
Going down the road he knew well.

The ponies ran round the field freely,
Their manes flowing wild in the wind;
He who used to talk to them kindly
Too soon would be tragically killed.

His dead body was found by the sea
Off the strand many long miles away:
Lying beneath the bushes and briars-
Last seen on a bike, back on that day.

The long days of searching were over,
The one that was lost was now found;
Their priest stood praying over him,
Quiet Gardai, some crying, all round.

We all had been rocked to our roots
To hear a lad like him was laid low;
Many had come to help in the search
He could have been one of their own.

So we'll remember him sadly forever
As he set out on the high road of life,
We will always see him just as he was
That time- but a young boy on his bike.

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