Box cars run by a mile long.
And I wonder what they say to each other
When they stop a mile long on a sidetrack.
Maybe their chatter goes:
I came from Fargo with a load of wheat up to the danger line.
I came from Omaha with a load of shorthorns and they
splintered my boards.
For poems on the changing leaves, the start of the school year in September, and the haunts and harvests that the season brings in October and November, along with so much more, browse our selection of fall poems.