The old bike leans against the silver birch, a young friend

Handlebars stick out like the tusks of an elephant

Chains click and clatter as they create a rhythmic beat

Cogs rusting in the rain, cogs rusting in the sunshine

Flowers hanging out of a plastic bottle

The gears squeaking and squawking like a parrot

The seat untouched for years and forgotten

An old, shattered light not used for decades

Two wheels perfectly normal and lying there

A couple of fine pedals, creaking and unused

The spring of suspension bouncing and springy

Ivy growing on the bike, making it feel like home

The bell, louder than ever is waiting to be rescued

A fine silver and birch, bright and happy, it is never despaired

A spider’s cobweb beautiful and more silky than ever

The tyres old and rusty, wise and spiritful

The saddle always trying to have a good laugh, a young man