Beneath the sun’s warm amber glow,
A sleek machine begins to show.
Chrome glimmers, paint so pure,
A classic beauty, timeless, sure.
Her gallant form, a pony’s stride,
Freedom roars as dreams collide.
With engines growling, hearts take flight,
A symbol born of pure delight.
The steering wheel—a captain’s helm,
Through winding roads, her driver’s realm.
Windshields framed with the open sky,
Adventure calls, horizons nigh.
From her grille to her racing lines,
She echoes of simpler, golden times.
Rock ‘n’ roll on the radio plays,
Cruisin’ streets in endless days.
She isn’t just a car, you see,
She’s legend, myth, and history.
A ’65 Mustang, bold, refined,
The open road is hers to find.
Michael J McCluskey 