The morning wakened slowly with a hazy milky light
and drops of rain fell gently as the day shook off the night.
The mist lay thick on hillsides as the bikers made their way
to all their favourite vantage points to watch the race that day.
The weatherman was worried and the clerk of course stood by
to see if there was some small chance the gods might clear the sky.
The hours ticked slowly onward and the clouds refused to shift
as forty thousand watchers in and out of sleep did drift.
Until at last at five o'clock a voice was heard to say
there will at last be racing on this most momentous day.
A modicum of mist remained on elevated parts
and Snaefells' slopes would test the mettle of the stoutest hearts.
At five fifteen they cut them loose and then began the fight
to see whose will was strongest when they got to Hailwood heights.
Bob heath had started strongly but his bike was running rich
and as he came to Ramsey it was bogging like a bitch.
At Brandywell McCullough had a clear road up ahead
when suddenly his engine seized and left his Honda dead.
With Gavin Lee on full bore and dictating early pace
it was all left up to Joey boy to show them how to race.
The last lap was a scorcher as the multitude looked on
the chequered was waved again for Ulsters favorite son.
The wee mans face displayed a smile as broad as Douglas head
"I've never had a closer race than that" I'm sure he said.
So while we drank the night away the papers worked to find
the words that could describe this feat and one thing sprang to mind.
And when we woke to read the news we saw the papers say
Yer Maun has made more history "It's twenty one today".