World - The Race-Car Driver Poem by Paul Warren

They say he was born to race
As a child he was mesmerised in place
Watching the Bathurst racers fly
As Brock and Moffat battled by

So he choose a life as a motor mechanic
And worked his way up with other fanatics
Until the day when he could take his place
On the track's starting grid for the race

He drove his car hard without compromise
As the crowd rubber necked on the straight as they fly
The adrenaline pumped on through his veins
And he knew this was his place and would remain

There were times when he couldn't get it right
When he toiled away all through the night
But he would have his life no other way
And was happiest in races as he drove away.

© Paul Warren Poetry