06/09/2023
In Stourbridge's heart, a tale to tell,
A cycle hire bike, its fate befell,
In West Midlands' charm, it once did ride,
Now damaged and abandoned, left aside.
On the ring road's path, it met its doom,
In a subway's shadows, like a silent tomb,
Once pedaled with purpose, now forgotten and forlorn,
In the heart of Stourbridge, where it was born.
Its wheels once spun with freedom's grace,
Now it's just a relic of a distant race,
A symbol of journeys that have come to an end,
In the ring road's subway, around the bend.
The paint's worn out, and the tires deflated,
Once a symbol of mobility, now outdated,
Yet amidst the neglect, a story it retains,
Of travels, adventures, and the West Midlands' plains.
So remember this bike, left all alone,
In the Stourbridge subway, its final home,
A reminder of journeys and places it's seen,
In the heart of West Midlands, where it's been.
Poem by M. Ffloid