Born to love, born to ride,
made friends; with ease; on every side –
on every kerb, his smirk awoke,
our peddle king, with heartbeat spoke,
beat a drum, beat the sad,
for trio daughters; that call him Dad –
still, as his spirit sprints,
you can still hear him, in these prints,
no need to slump, just toast with scrump,
as wheels in heaven; remain so pumped –
thus; such a fire, that happy spun,
in the dark, will be your Sun!