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Bicycle seats are most appealing
as how they give the caboose support,
at same time causing deep sharp hurt
and bring back haunting thoughts a trifle.

It's just, like days I seat recalling,
a ride along the local river
of our own very sweet long Niger.
There, sat two fish'men with nets broken,
count the fish they missed the hier, awaken'n
fits of fearless fishing fever,
in hopes to trap a great rare marlin.
This, they, even at two thousand, never
could ever accomplish. The least the two,
lousy looking lean locals with sorry lances,
broken nets half a sorry courage.
"This feat must we successful be
  or not at all another fish peel."
At this m'ment had I out my 'cycle came,
  for more the scene below me want
a better view to watch this game,
of two cowardly slender men,
with far great a dream befitting a court.
They really sailed to chase their dream,
which was I knew was far as beam-
of hope, these two would make it alive,
from shame, from death, from miles
of sweat, of half a bottle to none to drink,
without much strength to reach the brink
of our own very sweet long Niger.

And this is how the story ends,
for till this day no sight been made,
no noise, no scent, no shadows too,
of two lousy looking lean locals,
with sorry lances and a rare marlin,
with promises and dreams too high,
or sprouts of foolish shattered dreams.
While maybe might I been the last,
with cabosses smart from long cycling,
I feel it deep within my soul,
that maybe had I steeped in then,
with them their hopeless adventure gone,
perhaps would've saved at least a life,
far way beyond my own dead self.
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