Wheel me gently to the garage, since my car and I must part--
No more for me the records and the run.
That cursed left-hand cylinder the doctors call my heart
Is pinking past redemption -- I am done!
They'll never strike a mixture that'll help me pull my load.
My gears are stripped--I cannot set my brakes.
I am entered for the finals down the timeless untimed Road
To the Maker of the makers of all makes!
Back to Rudyard Kipling
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