A Trucker's Doggerel
Wit' comforts but few, for drink I've forsworn,
In clothes on my back that were yesterday worn,
On wheels eighteen by a wan yellow stripe
Leavin' smoke from a diesel 'n' an old corn cob pipe.
I've traveled this land with the wind at my side,
with the snow in my path, with the sun in my eyes.
With rain, and a glance to a sky I mislike
With a sigh, and a match, and an old corn cob pipe.
Past Iowa farms where my forebears were bred,
By woods, and north lakes where the ships keep their dead,
O'er mountains and rivers, through vineyards full ripe,
With a song to my lips, or an old corncob pipe.
And I dream of a day when the keys hang a hook
In a cottage that's mine by a sea or a brook
With a rocking chair set, when there's nought left to roam,
And my pipe by the hearth in a place to call home.
Wit' comforts but few, for drink I've forsworn,
In clothes on my back that were yesterday worn,
On wheels eighteen by a wan yellow stripe
Leavin' smoke from a diesel 'n' an old corn cob pipe.
I've traveled this land with the wind at my side,
with the snow in my path, with the sun in my eyes.
With rain, and a glance to a sky I mislike
With a sigh, and a match, and an old corn cob pipe.
Past Iowa farms where my forebears were bred,
By woods, and north lakes where the ships keep their dead,
O'er mountains and rivers, through vineyards full ripe,
With a song to my lips, or an old corncob pipe.
And I dream of a day when the keys hang a hook
In a cottage that's mine by a sea or a brook
With a rocking chair set, when there's nought left to roam,
And my pipe by the hearth in a place to call home.