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. Old-fashioned Requited Love
2. Subway
3. Baby Vamps
4. Kin
5. Hope Is a Tattered Flag

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