Poem by Carl Sandburg

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.”

1. Follies
2. Prayers after World War
3. A Father to His Son
4. Ready to Kill
5. Wars

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