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 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!


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Return to the Rudyard Kipling Home Page, or . . . Read the next poem; The Dykes

It ain't what you don't know that gets you into trouble. It's what you know for sure that just ain't so.