The Helmet In My Class

Seated in the dusty shelf of my class,

Lies an old, blue helmet.

Oh! Its three black stripes,

Indicate its loneliness.

None of us seem to notice

How terrible it would feel.

Just imagine how it would've been,

When it had an owner.

It must've been hard as a diamond,

Strong as SUPERMAN.

Protecting our head on the road,

And from cops, of course.

And suddenly a boy comes,

And jumps and shouts,

"This is my cycle helmet;

I missed it two days ago."