My Car My Bucolic
MY CAR MY BUCOLIC.
The speed of my automobile exclusively,
Depends on the wheelman which earth born,
Crave where the passengers await it's destination,
Seeing an endless road ahead.
Every four years is it's renewal with the,
Hope of getting to the promise terra-firma,
Where the Israelites peregrinates to,
With despondency from it's adversaries.
Only the strong survive to drive the car twice.
Oh! My wrecked car needs help;
Oh! My foolhardy driver needs help
The despoiled car got it's wound from exterior
Forces; where there is no necessity for protect
Asthenic tyre dawdle the speed;
The engines that fabricates the car now hassle,
Each other with hopeless range in anger
In this car, life live by the way car live life.
My enfeebled heart deems of the,
Mechanic who can revamp my sick car
My position calls for change which we need;
Marooning us inside the darkest tunnel to fracas,
The predators which we see not.
Let's have a heroic search,
Seeing not the vices of the past motorist.
Wheel the car oh driver!
Wheel the car to the right path
That the passenger serene
Wheel pass the motor park where other,
Cars swift with competition among them
My car my bucolic with countless myriad resources.
By: ADEBOYE JESUTOFUNMI?
Copyright © Adeboye Jesutofunmi | Year Posted 2017
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