A Poem
Submitted by @DaVinci
Take yourself back to 1952,
See the cars from Detroit drive through Kalamazoo,
When the Army no longer needed tanks by the scores,
They put on rubber wheels and gave 'em four doors.
But someone remembered what a sportscar could be,
He'd been building roadsters since he turned twenty three,
And across the Atlantic on the old British Isle,
Donald Healey decided to build cars with style.
He stayed up in his workshop far into the night,
Kept true to his dream 'til he got it just right,
Watched Abingdon craftsmen, like a father's first born,
Roll out his creation to the sun one fine morn.
With a chirp and a growl, then a rock steady whine,
She gave driver, creator, a heavenly sign,
But the devil's own...