Peddle

My little bicycle,

That I fantasize to be a ranger’s bike,

I grabbed it with force-

with my nine year old freckled arm,

And raced with the wind,

Peddling away from the screams.

I will peddle away,

To the place, I call it my favorite,

It is where I usually come,

To escape the daily menace.

Peddle, peddle, peddle,

The memory of the place is over,

I cover up my mood,

When the wind tickles my delicate hair,

Like how the birds chirp-

To settle the evening’s glare.