The Plains are Painted in Red

Written by: Robert Pettit

His massive head was adorned with a wooly crown,
and his robes decorated with ermine of brown
What a majestic monarch roaming with regal grace.
He was mighty, but bearing a pusillanimous face.
The king ruled his domain and his subjects in harmony,
and spent his life on the plains with complacency

The presence of parallel steel rails soon would tell
the arrival of a smoking iron horse from hell 
This brought waves of lead with tactless trajectories
from those who were carriers of a deadly disease
Many subjects soon would fall victim to the rain
which emanated from the guns on the moving train.
After the end of the deadly lead storm that day,
that careless iron horse then just galloped away.

Necrophagous vultures hovering not too high
in circular anticipation in the sky,
knew that the victims were inhaling their last breath.
They would soon be consumed by inevitable death
Words of another poet I would then recall:
“And death and darkness held dominion over all”

Diminished numbers of subjects would indicate
that this was the time for the king to abdicate.

Many moons had to pass through numerous night skies
before enough blind people would open their eyes.
Life and preservation is now what we embrace.
Finally, the king has gratefully regained his place.

Long live the king!