By Frances Depeel
He crawls out of his bed,
Long before it’s light,
He starts that diesel roaring,
While it’s still the dead of night.
Bleary eyes upon the highway,
Bones are aching, muscles sore,
He fights to keep awake,
While his partner starts to snore.
He’s the white knight of the roadways,
On his chromed and painted steed,
His armor plate just glistens,
Chivalry in every deed.
With a signal from his airhorn,
He declares to all who drive,
Down that isolated roadway,
That the white knight is alive.
His plumes are flying high,
An his C B’s coming in,
It helps to pass the time,
When traffic starts to thin.
But jousting on the highway,
When it’s icy on the wheel,
Takes a man well trained and ready,
Takes a knight with nerves of steel.
He’s a charmer with the ladies,
At the truck stop down the way,
he likes to tease Delores,
And he knows just what she’ll say,
He’ll woo her and cajole her,
Lancelot and Guinevere,
But it’s just a game and fantasy,
he loves his wife so dear.