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Red trike from behind

Its paint now faded red,
the back tires are as crooked
as the front wheel is bent;
yet, the tricycle frames itself
proud to support another brother.

As chunky little legs
pump the pedals round,
puffy little cheeks wiggle
from side to side across
the aged and battered seat.

I follow behind; but, as usual,
am outpaced in no time.
I see his smile as he turns,
and I’m caught in a time warp
of yesterdays and tomorrows.

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