Tonight I mourn the passing of a little fire truck, the one we bought for baby when we were so down on our luck
It was extravagant, a thing we could ill-afford But our need to give him something, well it couldn’t be ignored.
He rode, and rode, and rode it, ’til it’s stature he outgrew. Then his new red tricycle came, all shiny and brand new.
Yet that little truck still remained, such a favorite ’round here. Soon along came another baby and he rode it 3 more years.
Round and round the house, it made such an awful ruckus. But it was so worth the fun they had.
I’ve never seen anything like it.
Another tricycle bought, and then the old truck sat awhile.
But every so often they’d see it, and get a happy smile.
They’d rev it up and hop on board, and ride it round again.
It may have gotten old and worn, but it was still a treasure to them.
The shiny red trike has been bestowed upon some younger friends.
And training wheels and two-wheel bikes excitedly ushered in.
Now the baby he is six and the other baby’s four.
And that special little fire truck isn’t ridden anymore.