THE GUNSLINGING PREACHER
He had those chiseled looks,Which was handsome and rare.
A frame that looked lived in,
With long silver black hair.
When he rode into town,
He headed for the saloon.
The men would scamper away,
While all the girls swooned.
A myth of a man,
From the legends of old.
Many men tried to best him,
Should never have tried.
For when his guns blazed;
Someone would die.
He came across a sleepy old town,
In a valley one day.
They welcomed him in,
So he decided that's where he would stay.
To the town's folk,
He was a Goliath of a man.
He could fell a tree,
With one stroke of he's hand.
He decided to build them a church,
They bequeathed him some land.
For him they built him a homestead,
Treating him as one of their own;
He felt he was blessed.
Becoming their preacher,
He hung up his guns.
After a couple of years,
He took a wife, She bore him a son.
That was until the Bartlett's gang,
Rode into his sleepy old town.
Rapeing and robbing just on a whim,
Some folks said they were looking for him.
He would have preyed for those thieves,
If it wasn't for their killing people he loved.
He picked up his holster loaded his guns,
Forgive me my lord he said to his god up above.
Legends of old tell the story of what happened,
There was so I heard at least twenty of them.
Hardened gunslingers each and everyone,
Non as fast as him as they died by his guns.
He laid in the street when the fight was done,
They say twenty guns had blasted him.
At least that's what his bullet holes said,
God must have helped him to fill the vermin with lead.
They housed his guns in his church,
To big to hold for anyone.
Until the day his boy had grown up,
A giant of a man, A real son off a gun.
Poetry by Alan J Ripley
Read 111 times
Written on 2024-03-06 at 06:36
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