Bertram Grace

The sun was high, the trail was steep,
With roots that tangled, rocks that leap.
You took the seat, unsure, but game—
For love, for us, you rode just the same.

Not your sport, not your thing, not your call,
But you pedaled with us, gave it your all.
A novice, yes—but strong and proud,
Pushing forward through the shifting crowd.

Then that moment—sharp and fast,
A sudden slip, the ground rushed past.
Dirt and sand, skin laid bare,
A wound that whispered sharp despair.

But you stood up with a quiet grin,
Brushed it off, tucked pain within.
“Just a scratch,” you laughed, half-true—
But I saw the crimson breaking through.

I played it cool, I didn’t show
How much I wanted you not to go.
To rest, to stop, to let it heal,
But you rode on—steel over steel.

And in that grit, that fierce disguise,
I saw new strength behind your eyes.
Not just the mother, wife, or friend—
But a fighter, stubborn to the end.

I’ve loved your smile, your voice, your mind,
But in that crash, I saw the kind
Of woman who would bleed and ride
And never once let pain decide.

I wish I’d said how proud I was,
How much that moment made me pause—
To see you not just strong, but free,
And feel your fire burning next to me.

So here’s my truth, still riding through—
I saw the badass deep in you.
And though I kept it tucked inside,
That day, my love, you soared with pride.

© 2025 Shawn Oen. All rights reserved.