Shelterbelt racer, parked there just to rest,
Not ready for a junkyard, just not ready for a quest.
Replaced by something newer that is polished and bright
Moved to a quiet corner and left there out of sight.
Barnyard treasures all stashed out in the clover
Dreaming of tomorrow, not knowing it was over.
Tires split and rotted, all the way around,
Rusted crumpled steel melting into the ground.
Do they think of yesteryear, when the title was new,
Of how the motor raced and the exhaust wasn’t blue.
Remembering arms around each other in the seat’s embrace
When he tried for second, but was stuck at her first base.
– Clarence Holm