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!


facebook share button twitter share button reddit share button share on pinterest pinterest

Add The Dying Chauffeur to your library.

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

© 2022