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The last Gunfighter

A strange old man stood at the bar

He wore an old black frock coat

And a black Stetson to match

A  rusty gun was strapped to his hip,

He turned and looked straight at me

With a smile and a wink,

He said “buy me a drink.”

He had a scar from ear to ear

That looked like he had a permanent grin,

”So  buy me drink” he said

With a cheeky wink,

He’s the local drunk

Who lives in the past of the old Wild West,

He says he’s a gunfighter the last of his breed,

So buy him a drink and lend him an ear

And he will tell you a tale about is past

When he rode with the best

Jesse James and Billy the kid,

Across the wild west

He’s says he’s a gunfighter the last of his breed

Then he walked to the door and into the street

He looked side to side

As  he goes for his gun

He’s caught by the sun,

Now he lays dead on the ground

A gunfighter the last of his breed

And  a  ghost from the past

Thomas Sims

Tribute to the late Johnny Cash

(February 26, 1932 – September 12, 2003)

 

Stealth


Your cold and wet and shiver

As you crawl through the bush

Hungry and confused as you try not to rush

Creep past the gate, don’t set off the light

You’d seal your fate with one mistake and ruin your whole damn night

You’ve worked so hard to cross the yard and now you’re at the door

Reaching for the handle, nerves twitch for sweat to pour

You’ve come so far, at the door, time to take your chance

Slip inside and try to hide from footsteps that advance

With a stumble on the rug, you fall upon your face

With no-one here to help you, you’re flat out like a snake

Feeling like a fool, you give your nose a rub,

You’ve been caught red-handed, sneaking from the pub!

By Dan Fry

9th competition

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