Where time stands still, A Land Rover rests, its purpose fulfilled. Moss blankets the mirror, once keen and bright, And the windscreen wears a verdant shroud, just right. Through years of toil, it carried life's weight, Across rugged fields, through storms and fate. Now, it leans, a relic of days gone by, A silent witness to memories that won't die. The rusted gears, the worn-out seat, Tell stories of journeys, both bitter and sweet. In this mossy sanctuary, it finds repose, A testament to endurance, where nature grows. So let the moss embrace its metal frame, As time weaves its magic, etching its name. The Land Rover whispers secrets to the breeze, A symphony of nostalgia, beneath ancient trees.