Harley Davidson Poem

A Biker stood at the golden gate
His head was bent and low
He meekly asked the man of fate
Which way he should go
“What have you done?” St Peter said
“To seek admission here?”
“I merely kept a Harley running,
For many, many a year”
St Peter opened wide the gate
and gently pressed the bell.
“Come in and choose your harp,” he said
“You’ve had your share of Hell.”

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