a poem by Keith Lumbard, UK

An Enigmatic Stranger.

Dressed in pants of denim, over worn with leather chaps,
Upon his crown to hide his frown a felted Stetson hat,
With shirt of wool, bandanna cool and pocket vest to suit,
Filed spurs around the heels of pointed leather boots,

There embraced around his waist a double leather holster,
With a highly polished silver buckle further more to bolster,
And Colts of forty five he owned, and used in his crusade,
A woven woolen poncho hid the armory displayed,

With stallion between his thighs he galloped rolling planes,
His pack was rich with every tool he used in his campaigns,
A Smith and Western rifle hung in scabbard by his side,
Leather Canteen filled to brim to quench his thirst there tied,

His weathered look and bristled face that hid the trace of scars,
Fingers stained and yellow teeth from smoking cured cigars,
His wrinkled skin on dimpled chin he stroked with blistered palm,
As he sat astride his trusted horse so confident and calm,

He is an enigmatic stranger with an energetic style,
With the cunning of a reynard, and extraordinary guile,
Egregious his temper, with instantaneous revenge,
Ultimate the punishment he sought for his avenge,

Undercover of the darkness black, to town he made his way,
On muddy road where horses trod another life would pay,
With bullet swift from fastest draw as many have before,
The final name upon his list to even up the score,

Now they do meet upon street poised and to the ready,
Hands at side, fixated stare, cool and calm and steady,
With nervous twitch, explosive sound, a single fired round,
Then the wait that seals the fate till loser hits the ground,

He was an enigmatic stranger, with an energetic style,
With the the cunning of a reynard and extraordinary guile,

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