Dusty Trails

By Andrew R. Duckworth

The dusty trail is littered
With the echoes of wagon wheels
And words lost to the wind
And feelings of freedom
Gradually slipping away.
There’s a hat on the head
That reminds of the old days,
A few horses that pass by.
But the one road towns are gone,
As are the saloons,
As are the general stores.
Behold! Here cometh asphalt.
Behold! Here cometh iron.
Behold! Here cometh the future
Paving over the past.
What was built couldn’t last,
Too fragile for progress.