Ghost Town

Way up there in the Colorado mountains at around 9000 feet, There once was a thrivin' village that served as the county seat. It was a boom and bust town that now lies in desolate shambles, Its one-time stately buildin's now overgrown with creepin' brambles. 'Tis said that a vein of gold was discovered when a feller dug deep, To bury a friend who was gored to death by an irate mountain sheep! His discovery was known as Dead Man's claim and the rush was on, And to the place hordes of miners, gamblers and rabble was drawn. There were three or four rowdy saloons on each and every block, Servin' booze and featurin' high-kickin' women around the clock. A Methodist church and a school brought a tad of culture to the place. Folks of finer tastes thought 'soiled doves' paradin' about a disgrace! An untended graveyard gives witness to the wickedness of the town, As headstone etchin's reveal the doom of many who were gunned down! Yet is heard the phantom sounds from saloons from rabble goin' bananers, Fightin', gamblin' and dancin' to the tinklin' of out-of-tune peeaners! Northerly winds prod tumble weeds up and down dusty thoroughfares, Streets once teemin' with humanity goin' about their nefarious affairs. Now is only heard the ghostly creakin' of rusty hinges on saggin' doors, When frigid winter winds bear down upon those dreary windswept moors! Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired