Believe It ... or Don't Department
Willy "Bill the Bard" Shakesbeer drove a vw bus!

              Sonnet xviii

  Shall I compare thee to the summer's days?
  Nah, for thou art too ugly and too fat;
  No lines of grace nor speed thy form displays,
  More like the Snail, with speed akin to that;
  But when the showers of April are forgot,
  And darling buds of May do grace the land,
  Are thoughts of camping given rein to trot
  Within the wintered hearts and minds of Man,
  For it is then thy use belies thy form,
  As catepillar turns to butterfly,
  From cargo's bus to camper's little dorm,
  You turn whenever weekends happen by.
       So long as campers camp, from sea to sea,
       So lives a Bus, and those who camp with thee.

               Sonnets  xxix

  When, in this race of Fortune and men's lies,
  I often sit alone and contemplate ...
  Where might I be, had I been much more wise
  In choice of cars with which to link my fate?
  What might I drive to work, to play, to cope
  In rageous traffic, more than some can bear,
  Were I to let someone decree my scope
  In what to drive, to say, or clothes to wear?
  How more in profit might my time be spent
  Than nursemaid to some broken old auto?
  A smile replaces brow with troubles bent
  As to the wheel I climb and off I go ...
       And though my drives through rolling country end,
       I love this bus, this one that makes me grin.