The bike is old and will be forever forgotten.

The wheels are  flat, from years of cycling.

The seat has been torn and ripped apart.

The brakes are rusty and will not work unless someone finds it.

The handlebars have been broken and want a pair of warm hands to rest on them again.

The headlights have been shattered and the batteries are scattered and lost in the tall, wavy, green grass.

The bell is cracked and won’t work until its fixed.

The flowers shone against the bright, hot sun.

The cobwebs glistened while the dew slowly fell off.

By Shreeya