Wild Bill

"Wild Bill"

Ivory handles adorned his deadly pistols.
Instruments of death worn on each side.
Steady hands and eyes as black as coals.
Just coming in from a long and dusty ride.

No notches in his gun barrels for a kill,
Needed a short rest from the trail of death,
Many men lost to him, no time for a will.
Guns drawn, they'd taken their last breath.

His reputation had begun a long time ago.
Many a gunfight, he'd had since then.
Those who lined up were much too slow.
Defeated! To their graves they were sent!

Illinois born and bred, as were the Earps.
He fought wild Indians in the territories.
A gunfighter from his head to his stirrups,
Two blazing Colts added truth to the stories.

Someday someone faster would come along.
A younger man looking to make his name,
Always thinking he couldn't be out drawn,
Bill would play his hand in one final game!