Duel At Cripple Creek
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
Copyright © George D. Miller | Year Posted 2017
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