The Lone Ranger came to visit me last night.
He was perfect, his shiny six-guns hanging
on his hip, and the mask (to protect his real identity!)
"Howdy!" I said; "Hiya, pardner!" he replied,
and I motioned for him to take a seat. "No thanks,"
he groaned, "I think I'll stand, been in the saddle
now for going on three days!"
There were so many questions on my mind.
How come he always got the bad guy, and rode
off into the sunset with a flourish and a smile,
and how come you never saw the blood?
"Things were less complicated then," he mused,
not like now where everything's so realistic,
so there's nothing left for people to imagine;"
then he disappeared without a trace...
He's still my hero.
These days everyone's part good part bad,
so that the line is hard to find.
It was easier when men wore white and rode
high up in the saddle. The good guy always
grabbed the glory, then disappeared
in a cloud of dust with a hearty
"Hi Ho Silver, away!!"