The Last Wagon
The story tells of wagon wheels,
rollin,' cross the plains.
New land with its promises,
planning their bounty claim.
Every wagon rollin' cross
had to weather the plains.
Injuns' watched with eagle eyes
and counted wagon trains.
Staggered and strayed they would travel,
the land in numbers strong.
But always the last wagon',
carrying it all alone.
Usually slow old horses,
pulled tattered canvas covers
Rattlin' wood, and clankin' chains,
certain not like the others.
The unknown secret of the west
This wagon was filled with only the best.
Last wagon was always an easy mark
But hidden beneath were very brave hearts.
They waited in silence and ready to fend,
off the Injuns' that crept from behind,
To capture the women and children ahead,
and bring them back to their tribe.
But quick within sight the old men would wait,
shoot and attack as Injuns' kept gait
Halted their forces to preserve the rest,
these were the marksmen of the old west.
Protectors of wagons, preserve the course,
this was their job with no recourse.
Men of old age, whose lives had been spent,
rented the time just for a chance.
To see the new west, if they should make it,
or die for the others, safely escorted.