It's funny how I feel
Closer to you than ever
Yet you're six feet under
And I'm still treading here.
Sometimes I feel
That ride in your 53
You kept it parked
On the side of the house
Felt so big
When I sat
In that old bench seat.
You didn't drive it often
But man when you did
It owned the road.
I was just a little girl
When I was traveling
In it
Felt so big
When you were here.
When you were here
Driving your 53.
I was only seven or eight
When you were beside me
In back of that steering wheel
Man it was just so great
Didn't have a care
In the world
Didn't have to wonder then
You were right there
Beside me
In your 53.
In your 53.
It was green,
And so was I,
I can still feel the sweat
Running from my thick curls
Peeking over the dashboard
That I knew was yours.
V shaped window
Blowing hot quick wind
On my young soft face.
The bench seat
I sat upon
Dust beating from the cloth
In your 53.
Man how Ioved to ride
With you
In your 53.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem