The battered  bike sits there helplessly waiting for his old friend to ride with him one last time.

The handle bars creak like a one hundred year old door in the oldest of castles.

The ancient headlight flickers in the dark attracting only one lonely moth.

The ruined saddle is no longer in one piece, it is ripped to shreds.

The chain has been forgotten and sits in a deserted field rotting away into nothingness.

The flat tyres sink into the muddy ground like quick sand.

The spindles are like spaghetti dancing around excitedly.

The the crooked metal handle bars have become a home for spiders.

Cogs click in a  metallic rhythm like a band falling down the stairs.

The bronze bell dings quietly and sadly.