Western ND

In theory, Big Sky country should be coming
But at the moment hills of black obscure my view;
The train beneath me mightily is humming,
As is the freight train we are passing, too,
And as the hills roll by the trees thereon
Are clumped together like a Chia pet
Untended since the 80s and far gone
So that by now its patterning has set.
In little breaks between the trees I spy
The sprawling farms I thought that I should see,
Buy as the train and I both pass them by
They do not show very impressively
Albeit I admit the skies of gray
Are not designed to set off bales of hay.