The Duke

A lone rider sits high in the saddle, As the horizon's sunrise spreads across, The open prairie. Twin pearl handed pistols rest at his side, As rusty spires clang against wooden planks, At the deadwood saloon. Legends cowboys whisper his name, On the dry desert winds, A giant of a man whom breathed Life again into the legacy, Of the old west. His side swagger's walk trademark On the larger than a life screen. The duke truly represents the great American hero on horse back. Six shooters drawn at high noon's Count down, John Wayne's the trail dusts equalizer, He always remained on the right side, Of tin stars law. The tumble weeds rolls along a dirt path, As tall cactus stand on an arried canvas, Life here is harsh and mean, Where only the strong survive. Bold individuals with the inner Strength against god's forbidden land. Harden men whom lived by one simple, Rule I will do what ever it takes To stay alive. He'll join the ghost riders, Forever driving the lords herds Across the grand divides vast Prairie sky’s as the sunsets In the old west. Alone figure rides high in saddle, Set against a legends back drop, Hell bound for glory, In a cloud of gun smokes fog, Behold the duke emerges, With his hat on straight And gun at the ready. BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN