Yellow Bike

The yellow bike, rusting away, waiting to be rode all day long. 

Days past by, weeks past by, months, years past by, but not a soul rides the bike.

 Tires flattened, not much to say, it just sits there all day.

Seasons go by, cars go by, walkers go by, life moves on but not for this bike.

It waits all year for that one single day it might just ride all day.

One day that dream came true when an old truck came by and picked it up and took it back to his workshop. 

He fixed it up and it took all day.

 The very next day the man woke and hopped on the bike and played all day. Ride after ride, the bike and the man laughed and played; day after day, week after week, year after year, until one day, the man could not play. He was getting old and passed away. The bike sat there, lonely again, watching days fly, remembering the days with the man and realizing, hey, sometimes things must change.