I sipped at coffee, black and cold


    Listening to two recount things of old


    They spoke with pride, aloud and bold


    Of the things in life which they did behold


    One is dying of cancer, long and slow


    He had 6 months, 25 months ago


    He shared with me his lonesome woe


    By naught but his words I was held in tow


    He spoke of work, when he could run the road


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    He detailed hundreds of 53-footers towed


    A life spent well, sampling products of his load


    To his friend and me, he sang this wistful oad


    Time had passed swiftly, perhaps an hour


    The dying trucker, his face became sour.


    His aging continence did start to dour


    And he shared his regrets to those of our


    Times long gone, Twas the wild west


    A time when all truckers had their best


    No electronic logs which dictated rest


    Without corporate masters slavish behest


    He spoke of things I''ve never known


    A time when a man could be his own


    Across the continent, he could sow


    The seeds to which he''d one day grow


    He spoke of mountain trails and loads taken from rails


    He spoke of foods with real flavor and delights he did savor


    He spoke of Louisiana rain and the old men who did he train


    He spoke of rare greasy spoons and breathtaking full moons


    He spoke of the fall of this land, the inherent flaws within man


    Ugly beast of corporate greed, to which men must now heed


    At the end he spoke of his failing strength


    The wasting tax cast by slow death


    The need to no longer prove himself


    And the drain upon his slipping health


    He had seen the last glory days


    With his two eyes of saddened grey


    No more to look forward to today


    "For me now, it is too late to change."