With apologies to Rabbie Burns's "to a mouse"

[BRG75]

To a Rover, Seventy Five,
Just how, classy, you look,
You should have been, a huge success.
Sadly, many mistook,

Your future as, a quite superb,
Motor, car at, the turn,
Of the Twenty, First century,
But they’re, starting, to learn,

Your shapely lines, and classical,
Walnut, dashboard, complete
With instruments, oval in shape,
Which are, almost, unique.

A good rugged, diesel engine,
To please, the fleet, market;
With Joe public’s, admiring looks
Each time, owners, park it.

A really smooth, V6 auto,
Designed, to eat, each mile;
Or a straight 4, (less petrol used)
Without, losing, the style,

Of driving in, what has turned out,
To be, the last, in line,
But now Twenty, plus years later,
There’s some, doing, just fine.

Sacrificed on, the alter of,
Modern, journalism,
Only Clarkson, spoke up for it,
With enthusiasm,

Sitting in a, Seventy Five,
Twas said, by Jeremy,
To be akin, to a Rolls Royce,
Inside, at least, nearly.

Then later on, baby Bentley,
This car’s, also, been called,
By drivers and, their passengers,
Who have, been left, enthralled.

Early cars spawned, a nice estate;
M.G.’s, then came, along.
But dear reader, these cars have now,
Become, Rovers’ Swan Song.