The prancing horse which boldly stamps your hood,

Vibrating with its brothers that it shields,

Sends blood of envy racing through the veins

Of those who see you stalking through the fields.

My sixties child of Enzo, scarlet souled

Your eight pot engine leaks hot oil in truth.

Your doors leak winds that howl around my head.

You talk in ways that some would call uncouth.

With power output not as rare as once

Boy racers often match your speed with ease.

The naught to sixty limit crumbles like

the brown of rust, and both are your disease.

But with the name Ferrari branded deep,

eternal legend, still, is yours to keep.