BAG POEM

My bag my bag,
I used to think you were dag
You break my fall when I crash
I got you for my birthday
Which was nothing like D-day
I have taken you to MT Stromlo, Wollongong, Thredbo, Victoria and Canberra
You smell of mud
when I crash I go clud
But you always break my fall
you live in my room
Waiting waiting waiting
But you just keep waiting waiting
Until the day has come
when I choose you to come
and we go for a ride.