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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required It happened on one autumn morn The bright sun raked the sky The two men stood and faced each other One of which must die The wind blew down the dusty lane This bright an sunny morn Along a quiet winding creek A gunfighter would be born The breeze then sent a puff of dust A spiral in the sky And to this day at Cripple Creek Not a single soul knows why They wandered into town one day Nobody knew their names Their low slung guns around their hips Was their only claim to fame The sun now hot this autumn morn The setting not unique Two men with guns about to draw The duel at Cripple Creek The breeze then rattled the sunbaked corn Its' leaves a dusty brown In a little patch near the gurgling stream Not far from the edge of town The crowd grew tense this sunny day No words were even said They waited for the telling shot To see who would be dead They faced each other Twenty feet apart One would be wounded, the other dead With a bullet through his heart The simultaneous blasts of the guns Frightened a bird from yonder tree As one man grabbed his chest and fell The other took a knee I knew I could out gun that guy The wounded shootist said As he looked down upon his prey Lying at his feet quite dead I really was the fastest The living shootist said He hit me good, look at the blood As he also fell down dead The crowd now hushed just turned away With a memory they would keep Two senseless deaths had just occurred On the banks of Cripple Creek
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