[Jager]

To me fair Boxster, you never can be old,
Such seems your beauty, especially in winter’s cold;

As you wait for spring your paint is eyed,
Tis remembrance of summers' driving pride;

Ah, Nine-Eight-Six beauty, with your speed dial-hands,
Peer your sweet hue, which methinks still, doth stands;

Through many winter’s seasons have I seen,
Improvements to your soul that require much green;

New parts on thy frame, faster pace perceived,
Now you hath quicker motion so eyes may be deceived;

Fresh Boxster, just wait for spring from winter’s turn'd,
April streets coming soon, tires shall be burn'd.