The wind was howling <br />and shaking the big oak trees, <br />and the moon hanged like a sickle <br />gliding like a ship over the dark sky <br />and the motorbiker came riding <br />and the light of his motorbike cut <br />through the rain and kept him <br />locked to the stretch of road <br />that twisted up a hill. <br /> <br />He’d a round black helmet on his head, <br />a black leather jacket and black boots <br />and he rode through the weather <br />to where a light sparkled in the dark <br />and the girl of his heart was waiting.<br /><br />Gert Strydom<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-highway-man/
