Classic Poem

Fly, Roadster, fly!
The sun is high,
Gold are the fields
We hurry by,
Green are the woods
As we slide through
Past harbor and headland,
Blue on blue.

Fly, Roadster, fly!
The hay smells sweet,
And the flowers are fringing
Each village street,
Where carts are blue
And barns are red,
And the road unwinds
Like a twist of thread.

Fly, Roadster, fly!
Leave Time behind;
Out of sight
Shall be out of mind.
Shine and shadow
Blue sea, green bough,
Nothing is real
But Here and Now.