Twas the night before Christmas. He drove all alone.
In a freightliner condo made of steel and cargo.
I had come down highway With foot to the floor,
And to see just who, was behind that door.
I looked all about, A strange sight I did see.
No kids, No wife, Not even a family.
No wreath on grill, Just a man with a smile,
I read on the truck, we go the extra mile.
With lights of color, Wheels spinning round,
I thought to myself, He must be city bound.
For this truck was different, It was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a trucker, Once I could see clearly.
The driver sat driving, Silent, Alone,
Sitting up on the seat In this one bedroom dome.
The face was so gentle, The truck looked a new,
Not how I pictured A professional driver, who knew.
Was this the hero of whom i'd just read?
Who saved a small child, From being dead?
I realized the families That I saw that night.
Owed their lives to these truckers Who drive by night.
Soon round the country, The children would play,
And grownups would celebrate A bright Christmas day.
They all enjoy gifts Each month of the year,
Because of the truckers, Like the one I see here.
I couldn't help wonder How many drive alone,
On a cold Christmas eve In a land far from home.
The very thought Brought a tear to my eye,
I got out my tissue And started to cry.
The trucker yelled And I heard a rough voice,
"Hey, Don't cry, This life is my choice;
I drive for the people, I don't ask for much,
My life is my God, My country, My truck."
The trucker rolled on to finish his job,
I couldn't control it, I continued to sob.
I kept thinking for hours, So silent and still
And thought can he finish Does he have enough will.
I didn't want to continue On that cold, dark, night,
This guardian of honor So willing to drive.
Then the trucker slowed down, With a voice soft and pure,
Whispered, "Carry on Mr, It's Christmas Day, All is ok."
One look at my watch, And I knew he was right.
"Merry Christmas my friend, And to all a Good Night.
