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The Last Gunfighter

Was near high noon in Abilene, The entire city was at the scene. Sheriff was stern and standing fast, Unaware today would be his last. A mystery man rode into town, Said was the fastest gun around. A Navy Colt strapped by his side, On a painted stallion, he did ride. The rumor was he'd killed plenty, Some swore a dozen, others twenty. Each one shot right through the head, Left them stiff and stone cold dead. First victim was his older Brother, Laid soiled hands on Sainted Mother. Over the years, the numbers mounted, Even some that were never counted. His deadly saga continued to grow, Where he stopped, the blood would flow. Women would let out a piercing scream, He soon became an undertaker's dream. On this fateful day, two men stood, The only sound was creaking wood. Hushed crowd, eyes wide and staring, Combatant's fixed and coldly glaring. Clock struck twelve, both men drew, Lightning quick; as the bullets flew. One man standing, the other down, Came a loud gasp from the town. When gunsmoke cleared on the street, The Shootist was still upon his feet. Just one more notch on his gun, Then mounted horse in the blazing sun. Moments later, a shot would crack, The stranger caught it in the back. The Sheriff's Deputy, sworn to trust; Dropped the killer, face in the dust. The legend's been told to this day, His rotting bones rest in the clay. And still his name was never known, "The Last Gunfighter" was carved in stone.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022

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