The Stranger (An Original Poem)

Once there was a mining town, that cleaved upon the desert brown. In this town was a saloon; beer was drunk from dawn till noon. Men clutched mugs of liquid gold, their drunkenness a fight forebode. Empty holster, empty head – deadeye discharged flying lead. He, gunslinger broad of chest, was well-regarded in the West.Continue reading “The Stranger (An Original Poem)”