The bike squeaks like a mouse in a trap,

The wheels spin round like the earth.

The handles are like the arms of a tree reaching out for you,

The saddle is like a helmet waiting to be found,

The rusty old bike waited like a long lost lion to catch its prey.

The trees dance in the wind,

The leaves fall down like the snow in winter.

Snowmen prance around swiftly in the night sky,

Fairies fly around like bright yellow shooting stars.