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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required There were six in the cylinder, Strapped to his side, He stood tall, And walked with pride. His feathered friend, Hawk, Upon his shoulder, No, he didn't talk, But was so much bolder. Out west they would ride, Toward the setting Sun, Upon his horse, Named Son-of-a-gun. When the day had ended, They would rest their bones, Sit by the campfire, And sing their songs. The life they led, Was a simple one, Not much to dread, But a lot of fun. Fishing in the river, They would catch their meals, While son-of-a-gun, Would graze the fields. Every so often, On the trail, they led, A stranger would appear, Sometimes shooting lead. But this one fateful day, A stranger did appear, A six gun at her side, But nothing to fear. Her name was Ringo Kady, With Sally on her lap, Strumming a little song, While the cows took a nap. So not fearing each other, They decided to talk, Got off their horses, And took a little walk. Small talk was common, In those days of the west, They would tell of the news, That they knew best. Now on this day, As they walked and talked, The sun started setting, You could hear his screeching hawk. Time to make camp, And rest for the night, So in came hawk, And gave Kady a fright. But the stranger assured her, That there's nothing to fear, Hawk is a friend, One to have near. So resting again, They decided to sing, She got out Sally, And strummed like a queen. The song was simple, But said so much, Enjoying their company, Now to keep in touch. Addresses were given, At the break of day, And off again, Going their way. Kenneth Fordham 2008
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