How we begged for those discarded worn out Tires to be bestowed upon us, the black steeds For scrawny knights, a stout twig both the sword And the whip to keep the bicycle hoop rolling Over unpaved roads and empty lots, bare feet churning Behind them through all seasons; summer dust or Monsoon mud was all alike to us, the country bordered With rice paddies and by mango orchards needed vigilant Patrol by us tykes, as we sent up smoke signals from Bonfires or invented secret codes and swore blood oaths. There was mighty yelling in the wind we raced for speed, Before time overtook us all, and scattered us here and there.