Along an unpaved road,
Where the cowboys of yesteryear
Drove their cattle
Across the prairie
The natives called
"The Land of Death",
Although it's teaming with life
Such as yucca,
Mesquite and roaming livestock,
There's a ghost town
Called Cutter
In southeastern New Mexico
That was once
A railroad town
Of a thousand or so people.
Now all that remains is
Rusted cans, shards of old glass
And bricks of the
Train station buildings
That time and man
Has just about forgotten.
|