Classic Poem

Out on the prairies of Indiana, on a vast and magnificent scale,
The fields of wheat stretch far away into the ocean-like distance,
Rolled into arrested billows and fertile beyond belief.
Here and in many another Western state the harvests are garnered
By the strong hand of Steam or the tamed Jinn Electricity —
Billions of bushels to be sent to the flour-mills of Minnesota
And ground into creamy meal for the bread of the world.

Here, too, on the plains of Kansas, Colorado, Idaho, range
Herds in countless thousands, seeking their forage.
The cowboys, riders better than Sioux chieftains, clad in buckskin and tattered sombrero,
Armed with sinuous snake-like lariats, gallop forth to the round-up.
Here the fierce bulls are branded; there's a thunderous snorting and bellowing;
A pistol shot rings out; an unruly wide-horned champion falls to his knees,
Then slowly topples; a last gasp; a trembling of mighty limbs; death!

'Tis winter; the wild wind sweeps down from the desolate Rockies,
Laden with fine stinging snow; the sheep on the ranch seek for shelter;
Huddled together and shivering they wait for deliverance.
Mindless of the bitter cold, guided by instinct and the sense of their bronchos,
The ranchmen hasten forth in search of the perishing flock.
They themselves sometimes succumb to the terrible blizzard;
Utterly lost in the whirling blasts from the awful Sierras,
Frozen they fall in the heaping drifts and sleep there till spring comes.