The girl on the rusty bicycle…..Memories of York

I saw her first in Minister square
Her head a mass of dreadlocked hair
A group of five
Sat in a ring
While one of them did presents bring.

The trees bowed down their words to hear
While doves o’er head did stir the air
Two parcels wrapped
In paper green
Held strange tall cats with golden sheen.

I could not tell if she did cry
Or smile a gentle loving sigh
For then they rose
In ragged line
Going from the yard beneath the sign.

Then next I saw her felted head
While rattling over cobbles sped
Her tinging bell sent
Wandering folk
To safety from each rusty spoke.

The mudguards clatter trailed behind
As she turned sharp into the Wynd
To see her love
Perhaps her cat
We’ll never know to answer that.

©Malcolm Alexander  2017

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