Bicycle

Boy, armed to the last lower left molar and as ready for action as an open minded carrot, mounts the beast.
“Onward”, cries the oil raped frame
Of the eager creature without a name,
And on her back boy counts his legs,
The wind behind, the sun ahead,
With thoughtless thoughts inside his head,
He moseys forth.
Oh crumbs, chaotic alchemy,
Old man stands on a balcony,
A misty mourning, how can he
Retrieve such bereaved liberty
With knees as weak as seven days,
And boy soars on.
His right, his left, a rainbow blur,
A plush plethora, all astir,
A melodic medley, in the breeze,
Of assorted drops of smiles and trees,
Boy scoffs the road.
The shadows lengthen as he rides,
And time for time to char the light,
To slow, to stop, to breathe it in,
To drink, to drown, to feel the spin.
And where the journey once begun,
Here, where unsung songs were sung,
Each flavour still fresh on his tongue,
Boy dismounts.