The bike with

squeaky, old pedals hangs on the tree

Him and his friend Mr. Daddy long legs

have a calm place in their heaven

With his other friend Mr.

sits on his old, rusty handle bars

And the

black, old tires get in the conversation

But it is not the end for them because

the bell rings for coffee underground

And that is what the bike gets for energy

whilst the chains continue on working

Or the time it’s

saddle waits for somebody to sit on him

They talked and laughed a long 100 years

and the lights wait for bedtime

Until the next day is a next day

so the cogs stop for the night

And so it’s gears stop as well

running through out the day

But this bike and his friends

will all ways be remembered

Though the

plants as green as a leaf sit there

So this bike is a

big dirty,muddy,rusty buggy

And the bikes nice times

have flown away with him in heaven

This moment will be remembered

and the big, white tree helps him

As a walking stick

older than a 74 year old dog as little as a mouse

So the end of the poem

is right here for it’s end.