Debra Coppinger Hill | + Follow Poet |
Cowboy Poetry | + Fav Poem | Comment | Email | Print |

Outlaw?

I knew his face from a poster, 
That said he was wanted by the law, 
It had little affect on me, 
For I went by what I saw. 

Two eyes of blue looked up at me, 
So thin they looked like steel, 
And a moustache so thick and bushy, 
I wasn't sure if it was real. 

Out on the plains of Kansas, 
It is a hard and fast rule, 
That to take in and hide a wanted man, 
Are the actions of a fool. 

But I'm not known for  my reason, 
Common sense is my only art, 
And it told me I was safe, 
Go on and follow my heart. 

I took him to the old dugout, 
Beside little creek, 
Tended to his bullet wounds, 
Nursed him while he was weak. 

And I kept him there...a secret, 
Made him strong and well, 
An listened to the stories, 
That he began to tell... 

Of his life as a farmer, 
Becoming a raider after the war, 
He'd had a good reason once, 
But couldn't remember "why" anymore. 

When he tried to walk away, 
The band refused to let him go, 
They shot him and left him to die, 
Where I found him in the cold. 

I considered the sins of this man, 
Waged them against my own, 
Knew that for the right reasons, 
My life would have taken a different tone. 

And I knew there was no judging, 
His past actions, or mine, 
For his taking life, and my saving his, 
Were both considered a crime. 

So I hid him, and I'm not sorry, 
For a time he was my own, 
He told me once he loved me, 
I was the closest he had to a home. 

I procured a horse and a rifle, 
Once he was mended enough to ride, 
And politely refused his offer, 
To join him by his side. 

My last glimpse was the back of his hat, 
As he dropped into the draw, 
And I knew I'd not been wrong, 
About the things I saw. 

Deep inside those steel-blue eyes, 
Lay a soul that had changed it's ways, 
And his punishment would be in running, 
Wanted...for the rest of his days. 

And me, I'm still not repentant, 
I'd do it all over again, 
For sometimes Outlaws ain't evil, 
Sometimes they're just men, 

Who started out with good intentions, 
And no matter what they may be, 
The final call to judgement, 
Won't come from you or me. 

Because all of us are sinners, 
By bad luck or circumstance, 
And the only way out is common sense, 
Prayer and a second chance. 

So, pray with me for the Outlaw, 
Cheer him on in his second try, 
And start your prayer with the words, 
"But for the Grace of God, there go I..."

Copyright © Debra Coppinger Hill | Year Posted 2005

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