Ghost Trip of the Travelers 1995

That ancient quest,
Of that road traveled,
But not maintained,
Where the breakdowns may occur,
Leaving many a vehicle trapped; and thus forgotten,

Ghost car with its last sputtering and mechanical calamity,
In another century only the living may announce,
It will stall and that is where it will remain,

Our artist club will hike along these trails and discover where to paint,
The calls of the gulls out at the seas edge,
Could be the warnings of the inevitable,
How many have heard those same sea cries,

The mudflats have sometime taken these derelicts on a salty journey,
Dumping them mischievously any which way,
Well those mortals did the same,

Nature gradually recycles and chooses which ones to leave as artifacts,

Metal monuments facing the hikers along those trails,

With those pathways overgrown with the wild asters, fireweed and goldenrod,
And some did good in their own wild, rusty, vehicular, flowerpot arrangements,
Occasionally a crumbling roof buried in the soft ooze of the flats could be seen,

Even those people,
Probably now all spirits; many would like to believe,
Are traveling in that ghost car,
Towards a new plain,
Where they will never breakdown.