A loud crakle feels the morning sky
The engine that turns makes the Drag tires fry
As the tree lights up the cars get very loud
and as they leave the line the cars departure a thick white cloud
As the cars go by a horific rumble
The cars sound may cause you to stumble
In ten secounds its over it all comes to a stop
Except for the winners who will be place on top
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem