Homestead Act

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: February 26, 2007

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Submitted: February 26, 2007



He took out the pistol,

That had made him a man.

For so long now, he had laid aside the “brand”.

He had wanted to settle,

To till the soil.

To work the land, the farmer’s toil.

They came in the night,

Destroyed his home,

They had killed his wife. He was alone.

The belt buckled his waist,

The gun’s slide was smooth.

This was a day, they would rue.

He saddled his horse,

Checked his rifle’s loads.

Said goodbye to a grave, his heart was cold.

Screeching bar doors , swung to the sides.

He heard them inside, bragging,

How the wife had died.

The room was quitened, to an ominous calm.

Until deadly thunder rolled,

His gun bucked his palm.

The lead was cheap,

As it’s weight split the sound.

The thunder rolled, until all were down.

In a vest pocket, they found his pact.

Another bloody signature,

Of The Homestead Act.

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