They rode into the morning sun
A glimmering white topped wagon train
Of daring, varied emigrants
In search of land and homes out west.
On and on they journeyed
And the white tops shuddered
And the burdened axles groaned
Through their black grease.
They ventured along the edges
Through passes and down mountains steep
Swift rivers, quicksand, muddy trails
Pulled at their hoofs and heels.
Onward they traveled over shining mountains
Conquering, daring, venturing the unknown way
Death came – cholera, rattlesnakes, accidents
And many were left behind in cross-marked graves.
And then, they floated down on rafts
The most treacherous part of the Oregon Trail
One hundred miles of swift, turbulent waters
To their journey’s end in a fresh, new land.
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