Rolling in tires, so much fun,
Though it’s not for everyone.
One’s size must be perfect
If they are going to fit.

Climb in and wait for the push.
Watch out, if it’s too hard… Woosh!
The world melts; flying down the slope.
Ground and sky become a gyroscope.
Everything’s so fast… Can’t stop.
Hope for a bump in the sidewalk.

Crash! Everything’s still,
Yet spinning after that hill.
They run from the Radley house,
A man laughs, his interest roused.

He becomes their secret admirer,
And like a hunter stalking deer,
His binoculars see every event,
And soon they learn what his actions meant.

Secret gifts in a knot-hole,
Peering inside a little mole
Discovers trinkets of a long-lost youth,
And learns with eyes to see the truth
And feel sadness when the boa came
And choked tight their gifting game.

Awoken in the midnight amethyst,
Below a sky of rotting mist,
She shivers from the biting cold,
And is warmed by a blanketing mould,
To learn his intention was not for dessert,
But to quell the pain, to sooth and comfort.

They land at the end of summertime,
For passing seasons passed them by
He kills the rat, garbage it seems,
And she meets the ghost, her hopes and dreams.