brakehorsepower.net

a colleague and friend sent this
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!
regards to all and long life

Don't give up!

I don't recall the start too well, as the red lights turned to green,
And all those early laps I ran are just vague memories, barely seen.
Ah! but so well do I remember the sheer joy of getting up to speed.
The constant raging urge and addiction that all young racers need.
I had my time in the limelight, when everyone would speak my name.
The sheer thrill of winning, the podium, and the spraying of champagne.
Then there came a slow decline and lap times began a steady fall,
I could find no explanation for the slowing, no rhyme or reason, none at all,
Sadly things just got worse, and worse the more the laps rolled on.
I was longing for he race to end, my love of speed, and danger, gone.
Now I'm on my final lap I know so well the corners, bends and straights.
My days of glory over, my trophies gather dust, now just the chequered flag awaits.

Oh do get a grip you miserable so and sos!

Well said Mary; FISCAR here I come!!
If you still enjoy doing it, DO IT.

I suppose you two do not appreciate Shakespeare either?