tis but a rusted memory
now
but once a child's pride and
beloved toy....

fire engine-red trike,
riden for miles, and miles
and across lands of
imagined adventure....

feet pumping, wind in face
bell clattering, tink-tink-tink
and screams of pure...
unadulterated JOY

now a shadow,
draped in old hessian cloth
bell silent, rust weeping
and frozen to the ground

red trike,
i ride you still
in my dreams
we still slay dragons
tho now it seems
that dragons have many
guises, many lives
and that in this life
of adultness...i am in
dragons...sometimes
not often, but sometimes win