R.I.P.

O, I fear I have somber news to relay this day. Not fear; full well know I the sad portent of my tale. Indeed all that did know her I must now aggrieve, and all that did see her, feel her, and ride her shall not escape the melancholy of my words. Hear it now:

The day ere the sabbath, now a fortnight past, my family's faithful conveyance did cease to convey. A-tired was she, so she shook and swayed. A-thirst was she, though that which would quench did flow freely from her seams. Full from the advice of our humble entreaties, she did purpose to call upon a medick. Alas that her strength should have failed her upon the very hour she was to away!

Three days did straggle by until a means to convey our fallen friend was procured. An ill-portending sky did oversee her pilgrimage from home to help, and though she traveled on a kindly-back, the hope for her recovered return was no brighter than a single wick. It dwindled further still, after each successive day the news of her fate was delayed. On this day did the surgeon's findings reach me. The dismal character of her fate birthed a foul wind, that made a hasty demise of hope's candle. Hold fast! Now I come to the bitter fruit of my report. To our noble chariot, whose service to us hath usurped the golden summer of her years, only a black winter's end remains. All light and life is behind her now: she is dead.

(Our white Ford windstar has broken down and according to the shop and to Dad, it is not economically feasible to repair her.)