One cold winter’s day a little boy, Ted,
Was rummaging through his Gran’s wooden shed.
Discarding old boxes, cobwebs and books,
Flowerpots, nails and rusty old hooks,
A battered-up deckchair, sieve and bowtie. 
Ted’s about to give up as this catches his eye:
“A Balloon!” Ted exclaims, hugging his find, 
“Something to play with! I'm sure Gran won't mind.”

He pulls the blue ball along by its string.
When suddenly happens the most extraordinary thing: 
The Balloon's star-eyes open, it wiggles its head, 
As it sleepily asks, “Have I been in my bed?”
A talking Balloon! With painted stars for its eyes,
Blue-rubber for skin, with pretty bow ties!
Ted can’t find his words! What reply should he give 
To this magic balloon next to Gran’s metal sieve?

Ted’s life had been so normal; a house on the hill,
Near a railway track and an old run-down mill.
Where he lives with his Gran and Earnest her bear,
Who has beads for his eyes and yellow wool hair.
They rarely had guests and the cold wind would howl;
Ted often felt lonely and longed for a pal. 

Finally, a friend of his own! How he held Balloon tight,
“Could we have an adventure? Do you think that we might?”
With a wink of his star, Balloon shoots them up high, 
Gran’s shed now a blob as they make for the sky.
The fresh smell of grass creeping into Ted’s nose,
As the fields shrink away and they over-take crows.
And all the while Ted grips to the string, 
That flitters and flutters with a whir and a ting.
 
In search of adventure they take a detour 
Past Westminster's black number 10 door. 
'Ding-Dong' chimes Big Ben on the hour
As they speed past the Elizabeth Tower.
Bluebirds chirp by the white cliffs of Dover,
The rough English Chanel they navigate over. 
And all the while Ted grips to the string 
That flitters and flutters with a whir and a ting.

Now they’re in France; Balloon looks straight at Ted,
'To the Arc de Triomphe we simply must head!’
Ted gazes down at the tall standing arch,
Built on a roundabout, surrounded by cars.
A moment later, the Eiffel Tower's in sight:
Its wrought iron structure lit up in the night.
And all the while Ted grips to the string 
That flitters and flutters with a whir and a ting.

Heading southwards they go, 
The jagged Alps spread below.
Twisting and twirling, Ted shouts out ‘Hurray!’
Balloon glows back, as they’re tossed on their way. 
At the peak of Mont Blanc they almost collide 
With the feathery bottom of an Eagle mid-glide!
And all the while Ted grips to the string 
That flitters and flutters with a whir and a ting.     

Italy’s the next stop to fly over,
“Look Ted! Novara, Milan and Verona!” 
Excitedly Balloon gives a whistle-stop tour,
And Ted opens his eyes, like never before. 
Venetian canals, the Leaning Tower of Pisa,
Next Rome, the resting place of Julius Caesar.
And all the while Ted grips to the string
That flitters and flutters with a whir and a ting. 

The sun’s orange rays slowly creep through the sky, 
And Balloon’s smile fades as he lets out a sigh.
“What fun we have had, oh my dearest friend Ted. 
I shall miss you young boy: but now it's home we must head.” 
His rubber-blue face sweeps through the sky, 
With a cheeky wink of his star-for-an-eye. 
A tear plops down as Ted releases the string,
That flitters and flutters with a whir and a ting. 

Downward Ted spirals, flopping square on his bed. 
He can hear Granny snoring as he rests down his head. 
Now he’s back in his room in their house on the hill,
Near a railway track and an old run-down mill. 
As the weeks slowly pass, oft he thinks of that day,
Wishing, just once it would re-find its way. 
Gran’s papery fingers gently pat on his head,
Whilst his mind travels back to the old wooden shed. 

Then one special morning, not so long ago
Ted snuck out of bed, for he just had to know. 
Pulling on his black boots, and a hat for his head,
He ran through the garden, to his Gran’s wooden shed.
Flinging the door, he stops still with a gasp.
For there is Balloon waiting at last! 
His star eyes spring open, he jiggles his head,
With a swish of his string, “It’s adventure time, Ted!”

                     THE END