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A Ride To Remember

A secret ride from a new friend

By Colleen Millsteed Published 4 years ago • 2 min read
Image courtesy of Pixabay

Yesterday mummy and I had an adventure in the park

Well mummy fell asleep and I had that adventure alone,

I met some tiny friends, Mr Snail and Miss Ladybug

Sitting on the ground, comfortable as it was moss grown.

***

We laughed and giggled, talked and smiled, joked awhile

Until the visit was cut short as mummy was slowly waking,

Before saying my goodbyes, I hastily whispered my plan

We had a last giggle as we knew we were mischief-making.

***

It was hard to act like my normal self, after arriving home

As the excitement was bubbling up inside like a fizzy drink,

I was sure I was going to explode, then vanish into thin air

My secret the cause of ‘here one minute, gone in a blink’.

***

I hear you, I hear you, no I’m pretending you’re not there

Because you sound like a broken record, constantly asking,

“What’s the plan, what’s the plan, come on you can tell me”

So I give in and tell you and you’re left giggling and gasping.

***

I should feel bad that mummy doesn’t know, my secret plan

Because I’m heading off on another adventure today, alone,

I know mummy would just worry a lot or maybe even say no

And daddy would worry too, or become angry if he’d known.

***

I’ll just tell mummy I am going to go play in the backyard

As it’s where I have organised to meet Mr Snail for a ride,

I’m trying to stay safe, so I decide to wear my bike helmet

As Mr Snail and I race around the yard, swollen with pride.

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Here is the link to mummy and my adventure we had in the park yesterday.

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If you liked my writing, please click on the small heart underneath, near my name. Or send me a tip and let me know you enjoyed it.

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Please click the link below my name to read more of my work. I would also like to thank you for taking the time to read this today and for all your support.

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Originally posted on Medium

childrens poetry

About the Creator

Colleen Millsteed

My first love is poetry — it’s like a desperate need to write, to free up space in my mind, to escape the constant noise in my head. Most of the time the poems write themselves — I’m just the conduit holding the metaphorical pen.

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    Written by Colleen Millsteed