May the BIRD guide your spirit to your domain of eternal peace, probably somewhere along rt. 17.  I can't say that you never left me stranded, but I can say that you never left me stranded for long.  When I left you in the cold snow and rain for a whole year, you never held a grudge, and when the spring flowers bloomed, you started right up for me.  When I was forced to whore you out on the streets of Syracuse, you never complained once, but sweetly offered up your body as sacrifice so that I might make a living.   Even as your tiny frame groaned under the weight of seven or more sofas, you kept up a military pace and got the job done.  When they defiled you on the streets of Flatbush and smeared pork fat all over your interior, you still wated patiently for me to come at night and steal you away.  There are so many things I wanted to do with you.  I wanted to take you all over the country, from coast to coast over and over again.  I knew you had those miles in you no matter what they said about you.  When they laughed at you and mocked your mottled, blotchy skin I gave you a new white coat to wear. People called me crazy for sweating and slaving to come up with the cash to spring you out of the yards down in Queens, but I knew that you were the real thing and would always be there for me when everyone else turned their backs. 
When I took you off the road this summer you waited patiently for me to come and ressurect you one more time.  But the fluids were leaking, the smoke from the tailpipe was blue, and I could see the pavement through the floor by the brake pedal.  I knew it was time.  Luckily you signed your organ donor card and your heart and brain will live on in the body of the Captain's Cove.