The ancient, crooked chain rattled as the wind fiercely blew,   

So many battered parts of  leather from the saddle, crumbled to the soggy, frozen grass,

The strong rusty handle bars tried to stay up as the nature took it over,

 Stiff brakes held on tight to the wheel. 

Hairy moss tangled round the pedals . 

The  rusty chain finally moves.

 The flicking gears makes the time and age of the bike go as quick as lightning.

 Squishy squashy, mud tries to over take the beautiful creation. 

 Dusty spokes broken in half .

Now the secret bike is stood and still in the great, magical garden.