Riding shotgun again with my brother,
Wind blows hair on my face to smother.
The hot rod's candy-apple-red paint
Makes me shiver and feel faint.
The rumble of the powerful motor
Makes me thankful it's not yet over.
But he's 66 and I'm 69 years
The nostalgic beauty is all in the tears.
By Old Lady of the Woods
Trudy Jo Watkins