The bike by Aimee TJS
the rusty, ancient bike standing all alone.
With no one to come and collect it.
The handles falling apart.
And when it rains it crumbles to pieces.
it will always be abandoned.
the rusty, ancient bike standing all alone.
With no one to come and collect it.
The handles falling apart.
And when it rains it crumbles to pieces.
it will always be abandoned.
Hi Aimee I really like your poem and you are amazing at writing well done