Red barns and red heifers spot the green
grass circles around Omaha—the farmers
haul tanks of cream and wagon-loads of
cheese.
Shale hogbacks across the river at Council
Bluffs—and shanties hang by an eyelash to
the hill slants back around Omaha.
A span of steel ties up the kin of Iowa and
Nebraska across the yellow, big-hoofed Missouri
River.
Omaha, the roughneck, feeds armies,
Eats and swears from a dirty face.
Omaha works to get the world a breakfast.
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The only thing I know of that is from Omaha is their steaks. Supposedly they have the best steaks. I wouldn't know haven't had any that I know of.
But it seems like a nice picturesque venue he is painted her. As though this were indeed a painting and not a poem.
a good piece that Sandburg has written here.
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