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Beneath the gray November sky,
I whisper softly, "Not goodbye."
Your engine hums a final note,
As frost begins to seize my coat.

No winding curves, no roaring spins,
Just quiet now, as winter wins.
I drape you snug, in slumber deep,
For roads must wait while snowdrifts creep.

Goodnight, sweet prince, your race is run,
Until the thaw, beneath the sun.
When springtime calls, we’ll reunite,
To chase the day and thrill the night.