the western.
One night,
after the shadows have fallen,
we will sit with our hands in our laps
and laugh at this small tragedy;
when we kiss,
the world will be still for a moment
and our sorrows will ride into the horizon
like Clint Eastwood.
Until that night:
You be my Lightfoot,
I will be your Thunderbolt,
and we will ride into the sunset
anyhow.
(c) 2007 Dorothy J. Burk
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John Pigate
rpigate
November 27, 2007 at 6:01 pm