The bicycle holds up the skies
Pedals move, give life to wheels,
Handlebars a projective destination,
Brings beauty to the outside dim.
Reversing oiled chain, and brakes are glued,
Revolving wheels a steady limb,
Fates of death, turned around.
Arrival where the sky needs to breathe,
Repeat the process, round again,
Keep on going, don’t rust within,
I am the sky,
The bicycle, will never die