Doris may no longer be
the beauty on the block,
but she's still a queen of elegance.

Now, she is too slow to catch
the young and fast, the rash,
but she does so love to run.

So I took her for a day out:
well, I took her to a wedding,
for the pleasure of the bride.

She was scrubbed
     and cleaned
and wore two
     pretty white ribbons;
she looked glorious in the sun.

But my Doris is getting old.
I must raid and pull apart
the corpses of her siblings

to keep her in good health.
Such things have got too casual.
Elle s'appelle Doris, ma DS.

This poem was published in the Citroën Car Club Magazine.