There goes little Tommy Gray
All dressed in what his mother—
thought was okay
For a quiet bike ride in the empty street,
under a shining sun,
obsolete and bleak.
Covered with pads and a helmet
Little Tommy Gray joyfully rides—
A happiness kept
On a wide smile in his young face
Enjoying his Saturday outside,
He stops to observe his shoelace.
His mother, far behind, but observant
Saw him stop his bike and kneel—
On the street bend.
Watching her son tie his shoes,
She smiles under the cool evening,
Thankful in gratitude.
A wave of a wind blows her hat
Far behind and away beside—
A sleeping cat.
And at the bland seven o'clock chime
Little Tommy Gray sits on his bike
For one last time.
The squeal of harassed tires
Turning on the once safe street bend—
Igniting a fire.
And little Tommy Gray, calling his mother
Did not see the danger soon enough,
But then screamed as he went under.
Poor little Tommy Gray
I wonder what he thought then—
That sad day.
When his life came to an end,
An innocent child killed; so tell me
now can alcohol mend?