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The old garage was filled with light 
As door gave way to key; 
And there, within, a pair of twins, 
One flat, the other Vee. 
 I fired up the boxer twin, 
It shuddered at the cold; 
But soon that Beemer barked the beat, 
It's even cadence bold.
 That sound was such a pleasure, 
With tappets keeping time; 
I love to hear it idle slow, 
Its rumble like a rhyme. 
I left that motor drumming 
And stepped across the floor, 
Flipped a switch, gave grip a twist, 
And lit that Harley's roar. 
The Hog, with coughs and sneezes 
Then shook away the sleep; 
Then came a tone that's all her own 
That resonated deep. 
It's firing order staggered; 
A pause 'tween each ""ka-boom"", 
An interesting session 
Of jazz filled up the room.

I closed my eyes and listened, 
Then sank down to my knees; 
As thundered tones of idling twins 
Sent music on the breeze. 
I chuckled then as I recalled 
Those Sunday School recitals; 
For there I stood, a saint no good, 
Just worshiping those ""idles"".

Wes Stephenson

No Video link for `AN IDLE INTEREST`

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