Triumph Spitfire

She sits dissected

Across the garage floor.

The engine here

The frame there

And the body

Awaiting a coat of paint.

It was a dream,

A goal to bring her back.

Rust and age had started to show

So he wanted to revive her.

Disassemble was easy

She was apart in no time.

But things got in the way,

Years went by

And the dream grew out of reach.

Sad to say that when he died

The fragmented beauty still waited

Alone and in pieces in the garage.

Who knows if she will ever run again,

Grace parades like she was meant to.

In some way I hope

He is driving her again…


For the daily word prompt Triumph