One fine and wintry day at noon, and I to horrors all immune
Sat upon your cycle that rolled, that rolled on down the barren street.
I filled the frame behind your seat, and lifted up my precious feet
To set the bicycle to roll, to roll on down the barren street.
And while it strolled the street at noon, alike the lighter air-balloon
It strolled the streets all way to June.
Continue reading “Carried On Your Bicycle”