Vintage
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
We first saw light in a past decade,
We weren’t “assembled,” we were “made,”
Th’unhurried process that gave us worth
Resembled spawning less than birth.
As motor cars you may think us stark,
Compared with those of more modern mark,
But, unlike most, we can take a pride
In chassis that they are wise to hide.
We’ve seen them arrive with their ballyhoo
Of their this and that and of what they can do;
V iling their lack of the worth within
With gadgets and polish and plated tin.
To strive the proud boasting of youth to maintain
With vitals too meagre to shoulder the strain,
Soon sadly brings home certain natural laws
In rickety chassis and oval bores.
For this much is certain and clearer than gin,
You can’t get out what you don’t put in;
Longevity chiefly by quality’s won,
Without it, life’s shortened before it’s begun.
Oh! we’re vintage wagons, our like’s on the wane,
Our origin’s craftsmanship wedded to brain,
Designed and constructed in line with the creed
That quantity comes a bad second to breed.
So built, that whatever the future might send,
The pride of our youth should endure to the end,
And if now our lines aren’t those fashion allots,
We’re still piling mileage up — still do the knots!
I. W. Aird