I’m thinking now of my childhood Of Dinky toys and a bright shiny trike I travelled for miles going nowhere On that beautiful three-wheeled bike. It even had a boot on the back Like a bread bin between the wheels That I used to fill with books and toys Only opened to best friend’s appeals. The bike was bright red and I loved it I raced round on it every day Until that time when I was just too big And the bike was taken away. I missed that old red tricycle It had been my companion for a while But the two-wheeled cycle that Dad got Soon turned my lips up in a smile. It was a second-hand bike and quite grown-up Hand-painted the darkest maroon And I rode it for miles, this time with my dad But it’s fun-giving days went too soon. My next bike was blue, and a racer Derailleur gears numbered ten I wanted to ride out again with my dad But he’d cycled his last before then. My dad rode a bike for the whole of his life Yet he never reached fifty-three When I’m on a bike now, cycling along I think of him riding with me.