The bike

The dusty pedals as hard as rocks were waiting patiently to be ridden,
The rusty handle bars hadn’t been moved in a long time,
The oil less chain had been turned and twisted,
The begging wheels wanted to spin,
The comfortable seat is now torn and teared,
The broken birch tree tired of holding the old dusty bike,
The slippery and slimy moss climbed up the gears onto the worn out wheels,
The clicking of the gears annoyed the small animals,
The twisting of the screws – click clack,
The spokes that held up the tyres were snapped or lost,
The brakes creaked and screamed louder than any other sound I have ever heard in my entire life,
The mud guard is now a moss guard,
The lights barley shone in the night,
The bell sounded like a wood pecker tapping at a tree,
The metal frame could hold its self up.