In the weave of worlds where dreams collided,
A cyclist carved his name in twilight’s glow,
Two crowns adorned his head, as fate decided,
Yet now, alas, the pedals cease to flow.
Tadej, with wheels that spun like a poet’s tale,
Chased the sun through valleys, peaks, and fears,
Each turn a stanza, breath of wind a gale,
He bloomed in the arena, shedding tears.
A sudden hush now cloaks the hallowed roads,
The peloton stands still—a ghostly sight.
Whispers cradle heartbeats, like heavy loads,
In sorrow’s grasp, they mourn the fading light.
Fans gather like stars around a distant flame,
Trying to hold on to what we cannot grasp,
His laughter echoed in the halls of fame,
Yet fate, with cruel hands, unravels fast.
How do you mourn the hero who touched the skies?
A titan who danced with the mountains, unconfined;
Yet now a silence hangs where triumph lies,
The wheel of time has turned, the clock maligned.
With every spin of tire on asphalt tracks,
The memories weave through grief’s unraveling seam,
For victories etched in hearts, each one now lacks,
The joy of Tadej, who dared to dream.
Oh, cycling community, united in this pain,
Let his legacy be the wind in your sails,
As you ride through the storm, through heartache and rain,
With hope as your compass, and love as your trails.
In each pedal stroke, let his spirit rise,
Through meadows of courage, on paths never small,
Remember the champion who touched the skies,
In every heartbeat, he rides with us all.
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