Wind Sisters

The asphalt calls, a ribbon gray,
For women who ride their own way.
No passenger seat, no hand to hold,
Just freedom's song, a story told.

Some cruise along, a gentle breeze,
Drinking in sunsets through the trees.
Each wildflower, a whispered word,
Of beauty seen, and stories heard.

But others crave the engine's roar,
A lightning strike, demanding more.
They chase the curves, a thrilling dance,
A fiery spirit, taking a chance.

They know the sting of wind and rain,
The aching muscles, the sweet, sweet pain.
Each mile a mark, a badge of pride,
On journeys where their hearts reside.

From leather jackets, worn and true,
To helmets gleaming, skies of blue,
They share a bond, a sisterhood,
Of women riding, understood.

So raise a glass, to those who roam,
The independent hearts, finding home.
On two wheels, wild, and forever free,
The wind sisters, eternally.

By Stephanie Veronique