Her face was an ancient glacier
Lined with deep crevasses
Framed with straw colored hair
Dusted with brown freckles
Her stone cold eyes were pale blue
Her mouth was a jagged thin line
She stood like a general
Or perhaps a scarecrow
"Get off my farm!" she hollered
The sharp pain struck his chest
It was only just now that he saw
The pistol she had drawn
Warm blood flowed freely
It felt cold as it reached his leg
He tried to turn his head
But her rugged mount rushmore face
Was the last image to fill his eyes
As everything faded to black
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