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Paul Day Paul Day
Recommendations: 14

Once Upon a Lonely Hill


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I wrote this a while ago, but never posted it here.


Once upon a lonely hill
Beneath an aging tree
A little man of no repute
Knelt down upon a knee


And prayed the lord forgive him
For what he was soon to do
As he unclipped his guns
And confessed his sins anew


Then after but a little while
He arose and stood again
And turned unto the West
Where awaits his long revenge


For the man had unfinished plans
He intended then to carry out
So he mounted on his champion horse
And turned the beast about


Then full stride he galloped off
Fast down the Western slope
Full loaded was his champion
As he rode off then in hope


Not wasting time with small talk
He set his plans in place
And did not allow the townsfolk time
To reacquaint them with his face


He walked into the bar there
And flung the doors apart
Where all the music playing stopped
And the women did depart


“Where is the man that took her
My dear and precious wife
I’ll give one chance to surrender
Before there’s any strife”


But none moved against him
Or said a single word
For all of them remembered
From the stories that they heard


Then he spotted Bolthard
Standing turned against the bar
His frame as massive as a bull
Built solid as a railway car


“Bolthard!” he called to no reply
As he walked against his knees
“I want to have some words with you
If you’ve the time now please”


Now Bolthard turned slowly about
To face the little man
And a wicked grin then filled his face
As he stroked it with a hand


“You’re that scrubby little farmer
Yes now I remember you
And I remember fondly
Your pretty little sweet wife too”


But though now filled with anger
With his blood all boiling red
He in calm voice did speak the words
That to this day are still said


“You took my sweet wife from this world
Along with every thing t’was mine
So now you’ll have to pay for it
Now Bolthard, it is time


We can do this the hard way
Or we can play this game like men
And take this out into the streets
In the morning at a half past ten


Now Bolthard didn’t say a word
And moved instead to draw
But the little man was too quick
As Bolthard, dead then hit the floor


Surprised at how it happened
Bolthard’s men with guns all drawn
Opened fire upon the farmer
Upon the coming dawn


Falling wounded to his knees
The farmer returned their fire
And shot a dozen men at least
Before finally the farmer died


And when the dust had settled
And all the men were dead
The townsfolk took the bodies
While they wrote the words he said


And to this day the legend lives
Of this little farmer man
Who took on the Wests’ most feared
And avenged his wife in one last stand


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