It's the sound of a bike
Which is part of the deal
And the well-oiled whirr
Of the sprocket and wheel
For the sound of a bike
Is distinctly genteel
And is holier now
Than the automobile

And the ching of the bell
On a bend in a lane
And the back-alley squeak
Of the brakes after rain
And the willow-herb wind
For the ghost of a train
Since the cinderpath track
Became cyclist's domain.

But the sound of a bike
Disappears without trace
In the madness of town
And the scrimmage for space
With the cut-up and curse
And the rage on the face
Of contestants engaged
In the circular race

For the sound of a bike
Has a subtler beat
In the click of its gears
And the crick of its seat
Than the harsh metal dirge
Of a gridlocked elite
In their four-wheeled cells
On a five o'clock street


As part of the "Don't choke Britain" Campaign, we held our
first 'Annual Bike-To-Work Day'. A cyclist waxed lyrical.