The Robot Bird

As yellow as a shiny star after the moon has appeared in the dark, gloomy sky.
As small as my hand when I stretch it out like a fire work.
As hard as white concrete with bright paint on it.
It is as smelly as sand with dust during the school lunch time with students that are playing.
It seems like it is flying over the cloud of dust.
While the bouquet of flowers are growing beneath the trees.
They’re singing like opera singers.
It was very bright like a shiny ring a few years ago, but the colour has only faded a little.
It makes me think of my grandfather.
My special grandfather who bought it on children’s day, when I was six years old.
And when I’m not awake, my dad usually turns on the Robot Bird and it makes me annoyed sometimes.
It can be frank as a real bird that poops on someone’s hair.
Because when I clap three times it sings like Katy Perry who is good at singing.
So, they will surprise like an erupted volcano.
It’s as scary as a tiger when it barks it in the dark.
That’s why it is a precious thing to me like rare sapphires.