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The End of the Line
The Iron Horse is rusting,
In the statue-fenced plazas of the nameless towns,
Who once crossed the wild prairies, cursing,
(Voice of feathers and smoke)
In his carbon rages, on his whirling shoes.
The mourning dove inherits his ancient voice;
But who will awaken the heroic sleepers out of his history-
That iron road to Noplace where he lately arrived
In a gunfire of oratory near where the soldiers lie?
Alas! Jim Hill, the millionaires have thrown your torch forward
into the past!
Where now the locomotive is burning among the patriots.
Fourth of July. Hot...
Daddy, what's at the end of the line?
Baby, I tell you, the big train don't go there no
more.