Day 10 of the 30 Reblogs of November and a reminder of spring

Made of sticks and stones

I remember a purple bike,

An incongruous relic even then

To my child’s eye.

As I wobbled after my mum,

Stabilisers gone, pink

Elephant legs whirring furiously.


As we pedalled past houses,

Bumped up over kerbs, cycled down

The bronze hued road of memory

Towards the wood where the flowers grew.

Those mischievous angels in the dust,

That shone out from beneath the trees.

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