It’s my bike

My Bike


By Henry Tudor


It’s my bike, it’s twenty one years old


A large frame, solid, purple pink and gold


It’s my bike, large and it doesn’t even fold


It’s my bike, so never will it be sold.


Always there, hanging in the shed


Never cleaned only oiled, never ever bled


It’s my bike, no money, on it ever fed


It’s my bike, I’ll keep it ‘til I’m dead.


Seen new bikes, seats high in the air


Carbon frames, so little tread  to spare


So very light, blow away in the air


Not my bike, ‘cos  we are a pair.


It’s my bike.


http://www.henrytudor.co.uk/