Across The Wide, Sun-Swept Mesas The Steel Trail Of The Railroad Runs
East And West, Diminishing At Either End To A Shimmering Blur Of
Silver. South Of The Railroad These Level Immensities, Rich In Their
Season With Ripe Bunch-Grass And Grama-Grass Roll Up To The Barrier Of
The Far Blue Hills Of Spruce And Pine. The Red, Ragged Shoulders Of
Buttes Blot The Sky-Line Here And There; Wind-Worn And Grotesque
Silhouettes Of Gigantic Fortifications, Castles And Villages Wrought By
Some Volcanic Cyclops Who Grew Tired Of His Labors, Abandoning His
Unfinished Task To The Weird Ravages Of Wind And Weather.
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