Why do cyclists show no lights,
Even on a wet dark night?
They whizz right through the murk and rain,
Treat their safety with disdain.
For sparkly belts they do not care,
To be unseen seems like a dare.
They're happy in their gloomy clothes,
To blend right in to the shadows.
They'll be OK for quite a while,
But then they'll greet Grim Reaper's smile.
No matter how they twist and writhe
He'll hack them down with his sharp scythe.