My New Bike
Tim Blake

It was my third operation, I believe,
that my parents tossed me to bed with a heave.
I stayed there, for quite a while,
receiving presents, with a guile.
I stayed, and stayed,
played, and played,
until one day
I seemed very gay,
for my father strolled in
with a smile, that was spread across his chin.
With him he had, under his arm
was a new bike, red was its charm.
More of a tricycle I will say,
because my dear reader three wheels, it had lay.