The Cyclist Mad, that was his name
a hundred and twenty years ago.
A child glad that sailed the same
through sunshine and through shadow.
And whisked he on the wind a tune
then rolling, wheeling like a balloon
atop his rosy, blustering cycle
then plunging downward for a while.
But peculiar tides beat at his seat
freewheeling now 'twas not so sweet
tat-tat, beguiled in a cloud of stardust
smokeringed, blithering, wanderlust.
And when he came back down again
not child form but a sign most deign
and curiously wonder at the girl beside
most magically taken on the ride.
Submitted: January 27, 2021
© Copyright 2021 L.E. Belle. All rights reserved.
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Christy Writes
This is really cute. Your writing style fits folktales and myths quite well. :)
Thu, January 28th, 2021 1:40pmAuthor
Reply
Thanks. I appreciate :)
Thu, January 28th, 2021 8:09am