All of my life
I had just one desire -
To own a red bicycle,
But I never did.
Every Christmas morning
From three to sixteen,
No red bicycle beneath the Christmas tree -
Not from Santa, not from Mam or Dad,
Not even from Auntie Bridget. -
But I wasn't naughty… was I?
Then, at the sour age of seventeen,
On my way home from school,
The prettiest girl alive passed by
On a shiny, red bicycle;
Boy did it catch my eye!
Each afternoon that shiny, red bicycle
Would pass by - straining my eyes.
Then one afternoon - no shiny, red bicycle
& none the next one, or the next.
I learned that the girl moved out of town,
Taking my shiny, red bicycle with her.
I broke down inside.
Now, I'm well over sixty,
& many years drinking whiskey
To fill the red bicycle-shaped hole left inside.
All of my life
I had just one desire -
To ride a red bicycle
Only just once
Before my time was up -
Before I died.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem