The Dying Chauffeur

Wheel me gently to the garage, since my car and I must part— 
    No more for me the record and the run.
That cursèd 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!

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