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We ride a bike with motor like,
Around the town we go.
And do we dare say in the air,
The smells of living flow.
If in a car we could drive far,
With not a smell to whiff.
With windows shut say from the gut,
There’s rarely just a sniff.
But when outside while on our ride,
We smell a compost site.
And think of past when cutting last,
Our grass to its right height.
And long ago when we would sow,
And Christ would give the gain.
He’d cut out sin that entered in,
Then provide renewing rain.
While on the seat way down the street,
We’d smell a barbecue.
With aroma great we forgot our plate,
And settled for a view.
And of each day we bow to pray,
Just giving Him the glory.
And may He see our smell is free,
From messing up His story.
Then in the sky so way up high,
A darkened cloud appears.
We’re heading home to shelter roam,
When others make their jeers.
Our future bright while in His light,
And we stay on His side.
Our future dark if we just park,
Without Him on our ride.
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