Shiftin’ Gear

A little grey

In the heart and beard,

Big rig pilot rides

Whispering thunder across

Lonely sage-and-snow plains:

As always,

Shiftin’ gear,

Pushing calendar promises

And clock’s ransom demands;

Wry smile lights up the face

As the tune chnages

“Pretty woman, plain woman

Tellin’ a lie

Is just a signal

For the sky

To cry.”