The bicycle,

The bike lent sadly waiting impatiently, 

almost lost hope.

Alone wondering waiting,

for its owner to return.

The bottle,

like a vars sitting on a windowsill,

Collecting dust.

Cobwebs to glisten in the sunlight,

covered in rain drops.

The bike sits covered in rust,

from the rain and water.

The wheels are waiting to spin again,

thinking of the days it was ridden through

 the parks smooth roads. 

The fat rusted chain, 

 looks fixed in to place. 

 Its handle bars, 

 stick out like a table’s legs.