A Cut Lock

My children found found this profoundly sad.

I took my bike to work today.

Not a motorcycle, but a bike.

I thought it would be just the way

to get here and back real, real nice.

But when I went outside

to take my ride back home.

I found instead of my bike

a cut lock, all alone.

I don't know why they cut the lock.

I don't know where my bike now roams.

But I'm sad, and now I have a long walk.

And I don't really know when I'll get home.

And I really wish that someone, yes,

did not cut my lock!

Did not steal my bike!

I know that there are bike services that are used.

But they have not moved to my town.

If I could just borrow a bike

when there where so many to be found,

then it would be fine,

and a lock would surely not be cut.

And then it would be fine,

and then I would already be at home.

But there was a cut lock, yes, a cut lock.

And now all that I can do is walk, walk, walk, walk!

Still I will look in to the bike services,

because even if it's a walk,

it won't be this, this long!

I will miss my good bike.

I named that bike Bob.

But that good Bob bike will now be gone.

I will miss my bike named Bob,

and I will be so, so sad,

because now I need to inform my dad.

That Bob bike used to belong, yes, to my dad.

And he, like me, will be very sad.

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