Rolling along, rolling along,
Over the prairie with radio on.
Distant mountains lend their appeal
To a flattened landscape, seeming surreal.
The tires hum, the music plays
For hours and hours and days and days.
The mountains hide in falling snow
That forms in drifts as it starts to blow,
And the big wide prairie closes in.
We slow the truck to avoid a spin.
The arm on the Interstate comes down,
So we retreat to the just-passed town
For coffee and a "sweet-tooth" treat,
But it becomes dinner-potatoes and meat.
The place is crowded, or so it seems-
Not a spot where a person could ponder dreams!
Reports on the Interstate filter in,
Of where we're headed and where we've been.
At last, they tell us the plow's been through
And we can go on if we want to.
Our prairie crossing has had a delay,
So it will take us an extra day
To get where we're going from where we've been-
And then we'll have to head back again!!!