There winds a trail through forest land,
Through poplar, fir and pine;
An old, old trail dug out by hand,
Past gold and silver mine.

A monument to toiling man,
Through balsam, birch and spruce;
All that's left of a broken plan,
No more in constant use.

To link the world by land, they said,
With wire and glass and pole;
Across the mountain's watershed,
That to the oceans roll.

Carry the thoughts of man across
To Russia and the sea.
Complete the line without a loss!
Alas, 'twas not to be.

The trail was worn by weary feet,
By those who came behind;
Who felt the rain and felt the sleet,
Of weather so unkind.

It was tramped by Cataline,
And those who packed the freight,
In summer's heat and bright sunshine;
From early until late.

With creaking pack and clumping feet,
His horses moved ahead.
They thumped a slow and heavy beat,
Until the time for bed.

What lonely thoughts were on men's mind?
Or were they happy there?
Did they a lasting friendship find?
For them did someone care?

It lies there still, in cool, green shade,
With moss along the way;
A carpet thick of emerald and jade,
A lovely overlay.

If it could talk, what would it say
Of those who walked along?
If the old trail could talk today,
'Twould tell of right and wrong.

Dwight Dodge

Copyright (c) 2002 Dwight Dodge. All Rights Reserved.