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.
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