Bestowed upon me by my grandmother was a mild interest in poetry. It seems more satisfying to write it than read it.

For special occasions, I sometimes adapt someone else’s poem. I share the piece among family and co-workers, although it doesn’t seem big burly truckers read much poetry, even if written in their honor.

The poem below was originally called “A Christmas At Sea,” written by Robert Louis Stevenson in 1888. Published in Scots Observer, Stevenson’s poem was from the point of view of a ship’s helmsman, steering through a harsh winter storm while dreaming of being home with family for Christmas. .  

I have taken liberties below of adapting the dirge into a trucker’s version. Though written over a century ago, when revised, it offers a glimpse into a trucker’s life, as many often miss being home with families for Christmas.

Trucker’s Christmas on the Road

The road frozen hard; frost and snow coated the naked land,
Surfaces were iced over, where men scarce could stand.
The wind was a nor’wester; blowing stiffly, just my luck;
Blinding snow was all that could be seen outside our frozen truck.

I heard the wind a-roaring before the break of day;
But ’twas only with the light of dawn we saw how ill we really lay.
My co-driver tumbled from the bunk, all hands now on deck,
Continuing forward to deliver freight, but chancing a wreck.

All day we were Seattle bound, to the west and North,
All day we navigated the frozen truck, but seemed got no further forth.
All day as cold as charity, in bitter ache and dread,
All day for life and profession we drove, miles from our bed.

We gave the South a wider berth; there the highway seemed not as bad,
But every mile made, brought the north wind closer another tad.
So’s we saw cliffs and mountain, and snow everywhere piling high,
Snowplows not moving, weary drivers’ arms over eyes.

The frost on village roofs appeared as white as ocean foam,
Roaring fires burning bright in near everybody’s home.
The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out;
I swear we could smell the banquets as our rig rolled on in route.

The bells upon the church rung out with mighty jovial cheer,
For it’s just I should tell you how of all the days in a year.
This day of danger was also a blessed Christmas morn,
 We rested ‘long the road; I reflected of home becoming forlorn.

My mind envisioned a warm hearth; my family’s happy faces there,
Our two sons proud determination, our daughters golden hair.
Yes, I saw them all, like a pack of mischievous elves,
Dancing ‘round the table as freshly baked pies sat on the shelves.

I knew well thoughts my wife must have, as most surely it was of me,
A shadow on the household of the father that seemed never to be.
O the awful fool I seemed, in every kind of way,
To be on the road hauling freight on this blessed Christmas Day.

We lit out on the long road as dark began to fall.
‘Get this freight delivered ‘morrow,’ I understood dispatches’ call.
‘By the Lord, we’ll never make it,’ co-driver, Jackson, cried.
‘It’s one way or another, Mr. Jackson,’ the boss curtly replied.

We staggered to our bearings; our rig was strong and good,
The truck bucked up to windward as though it too understood.
As the following winter’s day was ending, in the entry of the night,
Weary, we cleared the mountains, finally relieved of the fight.

And Jackson heaved mighty sighs, comforted much more than me,
Icy mountains behind us; our destination nearby we could see.
But all I could think of, as we exited the highway in the bitter cold,                   

So far away from home, my little family growing old.

POSTSCRIPT

The weather cleared up, we raced home swiftly in just three days,

We even stopped to buy gifts and have dinner, my head in a haze. 

I feared missing Christmas with family, but alas, there would be no harm,

For ma and the kids had waited, and those pies were still all warm.  

MERRY CHRISTMAS, EVERYONE!