More miles—a whistle blows.
The earth cracks and moans
Under the weight of the rusting cars
Thundering through the prairie grass
Like the bison before them.
The old freight once held hobos and circuses,
Dusty men and lonely gypsies
Who waited, crouching like battered warriors
Around the fire in the gloom and
Warily watching the ridges of the dry land,
Conscious of every shadow.
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