Pretty orange leaves fall from the tree
Fireworks explode in the dark sky
Carrot cake to bake
Pretty orange leaves fall from the tree
Fireworks explode in the dark sky
Carrot cake to bake
Turkey roasts in the oven
While the happy family waits
The beautiful dog and cat lay at their feet
The weary traveller rests,
in a dark and dusty shed.
The moss forms like a blanket,
hugging the frame tight like a teddy bear.
The wheels used to spin like racing cars,
but now poison ivy weaves
between the delicate spindles.
Their endless turning is now extinct.
The handlebars used to look brand new,
now they are rusty and grim
like Gloom Castle
the foul, fragile bars groan when you try to move.
The bell is rotten and wrinkled by time,
the joyful ding ding has vanished for good
Replaced by the sad dong dong
this is its dying song. Bye Bye Mr Bell.
The bike is old and rusty ,
Smelly, just so wobbly,
It leans against the mouldy , yellow wall
Too tall to fit in the cupboard. The bike leans like an old friend against the wall,
Its bell is so rusty and does not work anymore. The bike is crumpled up with leaves and mouldy poo and the bike is useless.
The bike is crusty and rusty and covered in spider webs.
With poison ivy and log thick grass stuck on,
It is waiting to be cleaned like an old friend waiting to get in the shower.
The wheels were popped,
like an old balloon at a party,
by a rock that had got stuck in them on a long ride.
The abandoned, rusty bike leaned up against the birch tree covered in a thick, green weed.
The bike is so old and rusty and the wheels are spinning like racing cars and looks like it has been thrown into a lake.
The bike is a old blue bike with a broken seat and a flat tire.
The steering wheel looks like a spaghetti shape, the bell looks like a big old meatball and it does not ring as good as it should do, the back wheel is like a steering wheel, the bikes seat is a comfortable place to rest .
An ocean voyage
As waves break over the bow
The sea welcomes me.
You are the shining sun rays,
escaping through through the tiny gaps,
behind the umbrella trees
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