The Memory of Glenore, Part I

When the Anders Gang came to Pitkin’s place, Bent on murder, theft, and rape, Amongst them rode a wanted man, Known to the world as Chicago Sam. He rode behind, guarding the rear While the other dozen visited fear Upon a family, old and young, Doing everything to them under the sun. For two hours until the neighbors came, A horror on those folks was rained. Until finally Anders heard the hooves Of angry men racing to where they stood. Anders gave a call, and they mounted all And road away away towards mountains tall. Though Sam hesitated and looked down To a teenage girl laying on the ground. Still alive somehow, though barely so Her tattered clothes heaped in nearby shadow. Her face was swollen, but Sam, he swore That he looked into the face of sweet Glenore. He shook his head and galloped away, What he imagined there could never be. Glenore was dead, and twice the age Of the girl that he left there in pain. But in the days to come, it nagged at him, His last true memory free of sin. The sight of his lost love lingered long, And the memory of her voice, lifted in song. It wasn’t his fault, what she did choose. By her own had did her life she loose! She should’ve seen then what he was, A gambling life who lived life rough! The mistakes had been hers to make, To think his sins could be loved away. If she’d only gotten that through her head, She’d still be here, she’d be not dead. He told himself this, over and over, But kept seeing her image more. He saw the sadness mar her sweet face When with another he had laid. He saw her body, so small and cold, And reheard the words the marshal told, The psalms of reverends at the end, With all this weight did Sam content. One night while he stood on watch, He looked back on the sleeping flock Of murderers, thieves, and rustler scum, And though back upon all he’d done... CONCLUDES IN PART II.