An old car was driving, down a bumpy road. But this story ain’t about a car, just listen to the tale told.

You see, long ago, this road was smooth. Was paved alright, made to groove.

Well, years go by, cracks were found, lightning bolts from rainstorms had hit the ground.

But still again, my friend, life goes on. Some like the scars and the damage on.

Many traveled that road that that one old car was on. They loved it so much, they figured nothing’s wrong.

Then soon enough, these new folks came in. They saw the potential and wanted everybody in.

So that old car, did you know what it do? It ran off the road into the lake, just like a canoe! Canoe believe that? It’s a matter of fact. That dusty old car was lookin’ sharp as a tack.

With a rinse and a soak, and a whole bunch of rope, a big band of help got that car out from the folks.

But guess who didn’t help? Wasn’t none of the new’s. They just did as they pleased and ignored the new road that obviously didn’t come from canoes.

So the locals came together, the locals, agreed. They closed out the road for that rusting car steed.

And they closed out the lanes so that that not so dusty car could find a way to drive up again.

The local folk, they laughed and they cheered. The ones comfortable enough even sipped on in cheers. And so they made a new law for those older folks with cars. They can drive down beat up roads and look up at those stars.

So some folk petition to get the road fixed. But those dusty ol’ cars knew just the fix.

Make a new road, down to the lake. Close down our roads, for goodness sakes.

Those bumpy ol’ roads, that’s the way that it goes. There’s a new car smell, it’s called growing old.

Poetry