My guilty pleasure

Ode to that which will be gone

I am told they kill, I am told they will

But I savor the road which I drive on

A swing and a miss, my wing through a whisk

The wind with a mist, the road the rubber kissed

Nice stroads with no traffic, almost even so mystic

Explodes with no havoc, almost even holistic

I can feel the sky blue, I'm in love with it too

The dry airs of winter shall paint it a pink hue

The road that leads me there will then kill it too

Take the bus I should

But the bus is not the same

An ode to driving.