It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Four wheels that travel from A to B.
Why worship this idol that you see,
That’s pretty silly, don’t you agree.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Costing a fortune, must keep its shine.
Had to have it, this knockout design.
Thought it simply something so divine.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
Depreciates in so quick a time.
Won’t last long, rusty, bang goes its prime.
It certainly won’t be worth a dime.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
A car that travels from A to B.
Not an icon, no god this taxi,
Merely moulded plastic, with a key.
It’s just a machine,
Just a machine.
© Ernestine Northover
So very true Ernestine, the more you pay the more you lose. I'm trying to justify me having an old banger! Love Andrew x
And a very expensive one as well great right my friend 10 Chris xxx
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
True - unless it's a convertible! Then it's a sensory enhancement device! I love looking up through the dappled light of the trees on the way to work, or smelling the wild roses along a country road. You miss all that in a regular car. -chuck