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Bird Ballad Poems | Bird Poems About Ballad

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The Ballad of White Bird Pass - For Truckers and Those Who Love them

Dedicated to those who work day and night in all kinds of weather to bring us our stuff.  We all know we get cranky if we don’t get our stuff!

My daddy was a truckin’ man, back in ’63 hardly ever home with his family of three. Mostly drivin’ Idaho, highway 95. Drivin’ in the winter, hard to stay alive. He headed up to Grangeville, loaded with some gas had to cross the twister — dreaded White Bird Pass Road coiled like a slinky, full of mule-shoe turns. Wasn’t any guard rail then, just some earthen berms. Middle of a blizzard, wasn’t fit for beast nor man. Daddy had no choice, there was no better plan. Chained the drivers like he should, headed up the hill. Taming curves on snow-packed ice, required an iron will. A mile from the summit, the blizzard took a break What my daddy saw, surely made him shake. A wagon full of cub scouts, some mama at the wheel crossed the line a skiddin' — he likely heard her squeal. In a fatal instant, a fateful choice he made he saved a pack of lives, but his truck went o’er the grade. A jackknifed trailer skidding weighed dang-near fifteen tons but it saved a tearful mother and dozen mother’s sons. Somehow Daddy managed, to make that truck a dove, it touched the wagon’s bumper, like a gentle velvet glove. In the mirror he watched, as he headed out of sight, the wagon gently kissed the uphill bank, ending one bad plight. The choice he made that day, became my daddy’s end. His truck rolled down the hill, his very final bend. Now there is a new road, on that very hill Modern, straighter, safer, because of daddy Bill. If you’re ever out that way, be sure to stop and read the sign: “A hero lived and died here, way before his time.”

Copyright © John Wulf