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The Gunfighter

Harold Williams

2006

Most people called him a gunfighter …

He didn’t like the term.

He didn’t think of himself as a dangerous man,

It was just a name that he’d earned.

He never looked for trouble,

His code was pure and true.

Don’t mess around with me,

And I won’t mess around with you.

He wore his gun slung low,

So it was comfortable to the feel.

He didn’t compromise his values,

And he never made a deal.

Those who tried to take him,

Found his gun hand way too fast.

The challenges became much fewer,

But the mold was already cast.

In earlier days he’d loved a woman,

But fate made him leave her far behind.

He had nothing he could offer her,

Most surely not a life of his kind.

He used his gun to earn his money,

But it always made him frown.

For over 20 years he’d rode the trail,

Drifting from town to town.

Now the lawmen, they were tough but fair,

They lived by their own creed.

But they always asked him to move along,

Cause they didn’t like his breed.

Then one day it dawned on him,

From this life I’ll never be free.

Hired killer, gun slinger, gun fighter,

That’s all I’ll ever be.

These thoughts may have made him careless,

Though the night was dark and black.

But from some movement in an alley,

Someone shot him in the back.

His life has long been over,

A century or more has past.

But I hold his gun and wonder,

How long would I have last.