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!