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A Tune in Troon


				     A Tune in Troon

				In the Scottish village of Troon
				To the lilt of a Western tune,
				A man dressed in black
				With the sun at his back
				Created the scene from High Noon.

				A man mysterious and cool,
				A man who was nobody's fool,
				Mirror shades hid his eyes
				And were just a disguise
				Which he wore every day as a rule.

				They covered the view of his soul
				While he continued his stroll,
				Past the church and the Minister
				Who thought him quite sinister
				And best to avoid on the whole.

				From the pub came sounds of a tune,
				The familiar lilt of High Noon
				So he drank down his Carling,
				Embraced his own darling,
				Then faced his opponent in Troon.

				By seven o'clock it was done,
				He'd acted his part and he'd won,
				The game had been played
				And still wearing his shades
				He said that the golf had been fun.

				But the men of Shane or High Noon
				Weren't the sort to be found in Troon,
				No golf clubs, no fun
				And when all's said and done,
				Mirror shades were only .....
                                  ..... invented in the nineteen-sixties

Copyright © Elisabeth Sheaffer | Year Posted 2016


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