This is how it was told to me
A dear friend going on the spree
Went down to the basement floor
And put her key in garage door.
Shock! Horror! Blood froze in her veins
Her belovèd car, its silver strains
Which she so loved to pat and stroke
Was gone - quite vanished - up in smoke!
A mystery - a theft or worse
What, she thought, should she do first?
The police of course must be informed
But to calm her nerves, she quickly stormed -
Into the busy street outside
A few deep breaths, a firm, brisk stride
She needed time to have a think
Fresh air away from kitchen sink.
Where had she seen it last outside?
Some days ago she'd had a ride
With friends - they'd all met in a bar
She remembered it had not been far.
She turned into the very street
Where they had all had chanced to meet
And there, parked neatly on the kerb
Was her very own, sleek silver bird.
Relief washed over troubled brow
The memory came back somehow.
She'd parked the car and then walked home
Leaving it outside, alone.
What luck, no policeman got involved
She mused, she'd got the mystery solved.
Which proves sometimes instead of talk
It's better still to take a walk!
(c) Poet in the woods 2015