The Lost River-Driver Poem by David Welch

It was a century ago
when Joe Gibbs' rode the water's flow,
driving logs through the river's waves,
a young man only twenty years,
fast with a pick-pole, had no fear,
and never had they seen a man more brave.
At night he did joke with the guys,
in drunken song his voice did cry,
the river-driver's all liked him,
he could make the devil himself grin,
was on his second season out
when a jam snagged the river proud,
the boss cried out, quite clear and loud,
"Now who will clear this snag? "

Young Joe leapt up and raised his hand,
said, "Boss, I'll do it! I'm your man, "
out through the jumble he did leap.
He found the lynch-pin half submerged,
the log was jammed, and broadly turned,
and what was holding it up Young Joe did seek,
a rock poked up where no one saw,
it held the log like fearsome jaws,
it was just beneath the surface
and quite an easy thing to miss,
he stepped on it and gave a heave,
the log jam suddenly swept free,
and dragged young Joe away swiftly,
the men knew things looked bad.

They searched the shore for any trace,
nut none would ever see Joe's face,
and his body was never found.
The preacher's came and said their prayers,
the men had no time to despair,
logs were moving, and men before had drowned.
The days went by, and folks forgot,
then one looked at the submerged rock,
he saw a blue figured floating,
just above the stone and waving.
It appeared on the windy days,
when boats were tossed amongst the waves,
from that rock Joe warned them away,
to the cheers of boaters glad.

Then more logs came down next year,
the drivers would shrink back in fear
when they saw the ghost of their lost friend;
but Joe would motion to the sides,
then men would see, their logs divide,
and they would all pass safely in the end.
Joe would vanish when they were past,
to him the men would raise a glass,
and thank God for their lucky charm,
a ghost who steered men from real harm.
As years went by the legend spread,
and countless stories filled out heads,
or rivermen alive, not dead,
and all thanks to this lad.

But times did change, the great drives stopped,
the state came and blew up the rock,
some though that Joe would now pass on,
but he still showed up on dark nights,
and his face was such a sad sight,
a ghost depressed, his one last purpose gone.
For decades the dead man looked blue,
what kept him here, nobody knew,
and he soon passed into folklore,
people forgetting more and more,
appearances grew ever rare,
most didn't know that he was there,
and Joe was shadowed by despair,
a soul driven half-mad.

It was October when we heard,
great rains had flooded the river,
steams swollen up by a hurricane,
trees by the shore came crashing down,
the water lapped the streets of town,
and great trunks came a-racing down again.
A blue hatchback was swept away,
it came near Joe, and there did stay,
he appeared, and then looked inside,
and saw a child, barely five,
her parents were still on the shore,
mom screamed in panic, waved, implored,
the child screamed back in horror,
no help was to be had.

Joe panicked, as he was a ghost,
which made him more useless than most,
his hands would pass right through the car,
so he cried out to God for help,
and heard the terrified girl yell,
nobody could come help, they were too far.
So he tried to reach for the latch,
and, stunned, felt metal touch his grasp,
the girl looked up, shock in her eyes
at seeing ghostly figures fly,
but Joe grabbed her within his arms,
said soft words to cool her alarm,
and floated that girl clear of harm,
to a stunned mom and dad.

Amidst that hellish overcast
a single beam of light did flash,
turning Joe to a golden sheen,
he smiled and began to face,
the Man has mysterious ways,
but finally Joe would know Heaven's scene.
A dozen people saw all this,
on it many still reminisce,
the lost river-driver's story…
in death the man found true glory.
They built a statue in the square,
and people will leave wool shirts there,
of their hero they take great care,
and to this day will brag.