The wreck of a love lies unloved in my Mechanics bay,

The wheels, rimless, scuffed are at it’s best, its nicest feature.

The Mechanic sees nothing of value in this once sentimental creature.

A bygone relic who wishes it could express in any way,

What it was once capable of doing through its younger years,

Long rides in the country, a joy to move the gears into place.

Hear them grind perfectly in tune with its engine, the thrill of the chase,

Now stuck at the back of the workshop, brooding, dying, full of fears.