As autumn leaves fall

And crows came to call,

The boy named Mike,

Rides down the street on his bike.

Not a worry ahead,

Nor a thought he read,

The cold wind blew,

Winter was approaching, he knew.

The last house on the left

Was where he felt blessed.

The woman inside, powerful and calm,

Whom he referred to as mom.

Another day Mike had survived,

At last the time for supper had arrived,

His nose followed the smell,

Of the supper he knew so well.

The sun now hid behind the brush.

He knew he had to rush,

To make it home in time for dinner,

His stomach, weak and thinner.

He began to pedal,

Knees scraping on metal,

The moon over him shining,

Pedaling faster until he was gliding.

At last he overcame the hill and arrived home.

Throwing his bike next to the garden gnome,

Sneaking through the door in suspense,

His hunger became more immense.

His mother exclaimed in joy,

Waiting all day to feed her baby boy.

The boy named Mike,

Loved nothing more than his mother and bike.