I had a broken bicycle that was in red,
found a new way to contain my sorrow instead,
salvaging the tire got me ahead,
rolling it with a wooden stick I had painted in red.

Famous I became known as the tireless one,
I saved it in my shed to play every day save none,
friends told me wish they had my cheeky grin,
although I wished I was older to buy a shiny new one.

Every spoke of the wheel spoke to me,
I knew exactly the missing ones and there were three,
I haven’t loved anything to this degree,
a new one was in the shed not knowing I was an ardent devotee.

My red wooden stick would stay with me,
telling my dad he can ride the bike like it was a plea,
becoming that creature of comfort as far as I can see,
for I wasn’t ready to hang my tire yet on the summertree.