Iron Horses of the Prairie

Granddad used to talk about the sound in the night. How the hills

would hum when the lamps burn bright. Steam on the rails and a

whistle's cry was a lullaby under a prairie sky. He'd say,

"Boy, them engines had a soul of their own, made of fire

and thunder and steam and coal. Every town they passed, the people would

wave like they knew those horses carried the brave." Iron horses breathing

smoke and flame, rolling proud through the wind and rain. They hauled our

dreams from shore to shore, built this land and asked no more.