NOBLESSE OBLIGE

 

That projectile velocipede

The cyclist's silent steely steed

With sharp projections - myriad

And ridden by a wild eyed lad

Now hunts among the halt and lame

Where tots and tott'rers are fair game

To bring a wind of change, and fear

To folk once free to back and veer.

 

Dame Esther Rantzen raised the cry:

"Be helmeted or you might die"

But fervour fades - and now she's calmer:

No word of ped-es-tri-an armour.

Thus careless spiky biky foe

Strew walking wounded as they go;

On pavements they escape the cars

We walking wounded bear the scars.

 

So once more, Esther, to the breach

In all that safety lore you teach:

Bring walkers to the right attire

To clad and pad each bone, aspire.

Or yet a 'Pavement Code' to cover

The cyclist's badly battered brother.

If all else fails Sir Dyson might

Invent us - a sponge-rubber bike.