Promise of the Rails

Aspen groves obscured with smoke,
A breath of mountain air.
Its whistle screams; the engine steams
Along the ledge with care.

The granite bides on either side
Along the river's route.
The water's green; in pools, half seen,
Are silhouettes of trout.

Tailing fills between the hills
Are all that mark the pain
Of men who tried, on mountain sides,
To find their silver vein.

And always man surmounted land
To stake the railroad out.
The cliff remains supporting trains.
The solid rock is stout.

Through rain and mud, in drought and flood,
The trains will never fail.
The winter snow will only slow
The promise of the rails.

Written during a period of transition (1968-1975) sparked by the sale of the Durango-to-Silverton, Colorado, branch line by the Denver & Rio Grande to Charles Bradshaw as the Durango & Silverton Narrow Gauge Railroad. Bradshaw proved to be an astute manager of the ideals and history of the railroad and a shrewd businessman. The railroad today is better maintained and managed than when this poem was written as a possible epitaph.

Copyright © 1998-2005. Michael Quin Heavener. All Rights Reserved.