Hero

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 in a swirling cloud of dust, 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 harder to find. It was easier when men wore white and rode high up in the saddle. The good guy always grabbed the glory, and the girl, then he disappeared in a cloud of dust with a hearty "Hi ho Silver, away!!" ******** ...an exercise suggested in a poetry primer I read. '**********visited me last night,' (you fill in the blank!)