It was November of the mourn
challenging duels of a life worn,
and lines on wrinkled brow.
Holding a rolled smoke between,
his fingers steady on deathly sin,
in gunfights, he had to draw.
And he was fast, ever so fast,
both his hands suddenly flashed,
the double booming echoed.
And as he stood on deathwalk,
devil of dust and the gunsmoke,
straight of wind, derechoed.
Instinctively ejected the shells,
two bullets replacing when bells,
- unfavorable her eyes amber.
And ever since when winds swirl,
her eyes make his thoughts hurl,
with dead gunfighters number.
© 2012, All Rights Reserved