western
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Silver sheets pour from the gutter,
Changing all to brown and blue.
Yet one person sits alone, unmoving,
Stringy grey hair obscuring her view.
Rain in rivulets runs off her face,
The grit of sand slides rough across the ground beneath his boots. He is a real talk stand tall sturdy built man and he's got nothing left to lose.
Glass coke bottles, suntanned skin
Dust, stingin’ sweat, breathe out and in
Cracklin suspense, wide worried eyes
One, two the slow one dies
Three, four, kickin up dust,
in white she was to be in
in a different place
eighteen of the ninth
month it was to be
white as an angel she was
having papers of white
time took its time
In June of 1870, my Great Great Granddad was playing Poker in the Old West.Even though he was shot, the law neglected to place the murderer under arrest.My Great Great Granddad wasn't being honest, he was cheating.
For Richard Boone
Have Gun–Will Travel did not end much to soon.
His skilled method acting and ridding well hid
A loathing of horses he so deeply did.
As the sun started its steady descent
He sat there rocking on his swing
He listened to the birds chirp
And there he quietly began to sing
He sang about the soft blue skies
