The deserted, decaying bike stood,
intertwined with the young tree,
waiting for a willing owner,
to make it shine again.

The saddle is cobwebbed and broken,
not taking care of and is so brittle,
no wonder his self esteem is so little.

Wheels tangled in draping weeds,
tagging along as if they were friends,
who knows it could be the end.

The rusty bike intertwined with the young tree,
will be a story for you and me.