Motor

In the hush of dawn the motor sighs,
A restless heart of steel and chrome,
It drinks the petrol, warm and wise,
And turns the world into its home.

Cogs turn like thoughts in quiet rhyme,
Each pulse a beat, each spark a thought,
It hums through streets, through rain and grime,
A steadfast song that drivers sought.

From village lanes to motorway’s gleam,
It carries dreams on winding roads,
A faithful friend, a steel‑clad stream,
That bears us forward, lightens loads.

So here’s to the motor, humble yet bold,
Whose quiet power moves our days—
In British lanes, in stories told,
It drives the rhythm of our ways.