The Talking Car

I am a car, made of fibre and steel, Take you to places, with great zeal. Though I can’t speak, I have a horn, With all comfort and luxury, I’m born. It makes me glad and smile, To carry you safe and sound, all the while. But when my friend splashes water from a puddle, Makes me ugly and sad, for which I spuddle. Do you ever bother to make me comfortable, When day after day, I feel miserable. Have you ever bathed me or wiped me clean, So that I too can smile and look sheen. Even I want to look beautiful at every chance, You must maintain me so that everyone dies for a glance.