Our love it’s a fancy sports car alright,
Waiting patiently for us under the lights,
In our fancy garage it’s a wondrous sight
Cleaned three times a day and the paint job’s so bright
Payments are made and the money’s all saved
Waiting for that perfect day to start driving away
But the time to go drive, let the radio play,
That time is never now and always.. someday,
Because some days are gloomy, so the ride would be sad,
Oh and other drivers around us just might be too mad,
There’s that dusty construction in the middle of town,
And some days it’s raining so that means no top down,
That sun and UV.. it'll ruin the paint,
What? The neighbors might see? Well this day it ain’t.
So what happens when, on that perfect of days,
When our endless dreams meet reality’s ways,
Do we know what all of those “somedays” will do,
To our engine, the spark plugs, and all of our fuel?
That day will come,
We both know in our heart,
But what ever will we do,
If our sports car won’t start?
- Author: Marshall (Pseudonym) ( Offline)
- Published: December 11th, 2023 01:47
- Comment from author about the poem: This one's part cheesy lovesick poem, part beginnings of a country song, I think. It was fun to write even though it was a little sad. But being sad is ok sometimes. Hope you enjoyed it. -M
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 5
Comments1
I prefer to bag around in my old ute, it don't look like much but she's a beaut. Through the dust the mud and grim, no matter the day the driving is divine.
Yep.. don't worry, be happy!
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.