Poetry

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Fourteen horsemen are riding together
With pistols, and rifles, holstered in leather.

Bank robbery is the reason; it's me they chase,
Eager men of all sizes and different race.

The sheriff and his posse are hot on my trail,
Determined to hang me in front of the jail.

There’ s a five thousand dollar reward on my head,
Makes no difference if I'm live or dead.

My horse has gone lame and my canteen is dry,
I'm sucking on cactus so of thirst I don’t die.

It's a five-mile walk to the Rio Grand,
Where I can drink my fill by hatful or hand.

I've already hidden the money and gold,
Inside a cottonwood, by it's size, is old.

Someday I'll return and my treasure I'll take,
Then build me a castle by a pristine lake.

Presently my choice is to run for my life,
Cause I can't fight fourteen with a gun and knife.

If I reach the river I'll grab me a log,
Swim for the current and get lost in the fog.

Lord, if you're willing, please save me "one more time,"
And I'll never rob again, I'll just write rhyme.



Tom Zart
Author of
Love, War And More
Published by
Publish America

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