The dark of night was covering the day.
Her hands ached from gripping the wheel.
She drove this way, and that way.
All different directions as she had been taught.
She could hardly see in front of her,
But she continues the blind ride.
Flying fast hoping not to get caught.
Her journey was coming to an end.
She looked had any tried to hide.
No, it looked even to the eye.
She turned the key
and you could hear the tired
Motor die.
She picked up her beer and turned
She made the motion of a toast.
Rather mow the yard at dusk than
Turn into noon time roast.