Limited
I AM riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains
of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air
go fifteen all-steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men
and women laughing in the diners and sleepers shall
pass to ashes.
)
I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he
answers: "Omaha.
"
Poem by
Carl Sandburg
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