The hare runs very swiftly,
for ten years he can go -
but patient, walks the turtle for
a hundred years or so...
Rounding curves, squealing with a
couple hundred horses -
stretched out over lawful edge,
Sporty style and glossy paint -
surpassing every class -
clean and polished, buffed and waxed,
with tinted window glass.
Transmissions humming through the gears,
bring screeching to the tires -
and then the booming drowns the streets -
huge speakers strung with wires.
Flying off at green lights hue,
with pedals under lead -
wasting gas, polluting air,
to break at every red...
The pedals crush the metal flat
with heavy laden feet -
yet idle through the drive ups then,
for food that's good to eat.
Running full in circles wide,
while rushing far and near -
important is the coffee cup,
some cigarettes or beer.
Another day, another laugh,
for fun is not a crime!
Let's get the guys together 'cause -
it's almost party time!
Then sharp, the sirens pierce the night,
and everything goes wrong...
A child wandered in the street.
The doctors take too long.
So many people crying,
so many people sad -
so many people blaming God,
so many people mad.
This poem's not about a car,
a cycle, or a van -
but oh, about the drivers there,
the much impatient man...
Now God created turtles,
and God created hares -
but then created patient man,
if patient are his prayers.
PLEASE DRIVE SAFELY - ALWAYS!