Sleeping Giant
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“Willie James”
Coward is what they called him, and he wore it with some shame
But certain it was he’d earned it, this dastard Willie James.
He ran from his wife and infant son to feed the beast inside
Too young and wild for home and hearth it cannot be denied.
He roamed over hill and prairie, the hunger in his eye
The swagger born on a long lost morn still lived, I cannot lie.
But he could find no comfort, ‘cause a conscience must be fed,
And so he roved ‘neath starry skies, wherever fancy led.
He stole from the local ranchers at night while others slept;
And for his sins and many crimes no shred of guilt he kept.
Instead he wore a little grin with a strange twist at the edge,
Bedded down ‘neath the Northern Nail, his pillow twisted sedge.
And so he lived for many years, if you can call that life
The gnawing in his heart for what he’d done to babe and wife.
He wondered in the sleepless nights of the Comanche moon
If they’d survived, or fought and strived, and then he sang a tune,
The lullaby his pappy sang when he was still a lad
Before he’d found his truer self and the good had turned to bad,
And the thunder rolled way up beyond, as if a prayer was heard
When suddenly the lightning crashed beside without a word.
The heavens poured down buckets, the rivers swelled and raged;
They jumped their banks, and his heart sank, at the battle to be waged,
When suddenly he heard nearby a plaintive, muffled cry
And turned his head, then pivoted, and what should he espy?
A fine young woman, head to toe was drenched, and it was quite
Peculiar that she would be a ramblin’ on this night.
He thought, perhaps the One above gives me His finest gift
Until he looked again, and she could see his blue eyes shift.
Her belly was so round and full, a grand autumnal gourd
But the truth of her condition was not one to be ignored.
This night she’d be a mother, Willie knew what must be done
His heart told him to comfort her, though his mind told him to run.
They made their way to the valley, the river roared and churned;
They have to cross though the river tossed, and eddies ceaseless turned.
Great oaks had been uprooted, and fell to make a bridge
He knew they would survive if they could cross and scale the ridge.
But the great logjam at the river dam let off a ceaseless groan
Like a banshee wail, and his face ran pale, and the girl began to moan.
Her time was near, and a little fear began to crowd his mind
He knew he’d have to be a man, and pay for life in kind.
And so he walked out on the logs, the young lass at his hip
The sneer that marked the man he was still playin’ on his lip.
Beneath the two the pack of logs writhed like a serpent woke
And on his tongue, now cotton-dry, ol’ Will began to choke.
He’d lost his nerve and then the bride began to sharper cry
And Will knew that her time was short, and it was do or die.
The other side was feet away, and then the logs ran out
And hope was lost in crash and toss, and all gave way to doubt.
A mere six feet of water ran cold and black beneath
As Will knelt down upon the log and stretched, and bared his teeth
And he became for two young lives a strong and willing bridge
The only hope that they would ever reach the high, safe ridge.
Her belly clutched, tears in her eyes, she crossed that bridge at last
And with a final torrent saw her savior carried past.
Consumed by something wild as him, he now could cease to roam;
He’d lost his life and found it, and at last he made it home.
Cowboy poetry...
Coward is what they called him, and he wore it with some shame
But certain it was he’d earned it, this dastard Willie James.
He ran from his wife and infant son to feed the beast inside
Too young and wild for home and hearth it cannot be denied.
He roamed over hill and prairie, the hunger in his eye
The swagger born on a long lost morn still lived, I cannot lie.
But he could find no comfort, ‘cause a conscience must be fed,
And so he roved ‘neath starry skies, wherever fancy led.
He stole from the local ranchers at night while others slept;
And for his sins and many crimes no shred of guilt he kept.
Instead he wore a little grin with a strange twist at the edge,
Bedded down ‘neath the Northern Nail, his pillow twisted sedge.
And so he lived for many years, if you can call that life
The gnawing in his heart for what he’d done to babe and wife.
He wondered in the sleepless nights of the Comanche moon
If they’d survived, or fought and strived, and then he sang a tune,
The lullaby his pappy sang when he was still a lad
Before he’d found his truer self and the good had turned to bad,
And the thunder rolled way up beyond, as if a prayer was heard
When suddenly the lightning crashed beside without a word.
The heavens poured down buckets, the rivers swelled and raged;
They jumped their banks, and his heart sank, at the battle to be waged,
When suddenly he heard nearby a plaintive, muffled cry
And turned his head, then pivoted, and what should he espy?
A fine young woman, head to toe was drenched, and it was quite
Peculiar that she would be a ramblin’ on this night.
He thought, perhaps the One above gives me His finest gift
Until he looked again, and she could see his blue eyes shift.
Her belly was so round and full, a grand autumnal gourd
But the truth of her condition was not one to be ignored.
This night she’d be a mother, Willie knew what must be done
His heart told him to comfort her, though his mind told him to run.
They made their way to the valley, the river roared and churned;
They have to cross though the river tossed, and eddies ceaseless turned.
Great oaks had been uprooted, and fell to make a bridge
He knew they would survive if they could cross and scale the ridge.
But the great logjam at the river dam let off a ceaseless groan
Like a banshee wail, and his face ran pale, and the girl began to moan.
Her time was near, and a little fear began to crowd his mind
He knew he’d have to be a man, and pay for life in kind.
And so he walked out on the logs, the young lass at his hip
The sneer that marked the man he was still playin’ on his lip.
Beneath the two the pack of logs writhed like a serpent woke
And on his tongue, now cotton-dry, ol’ Will began to choke.
He’d lost his nerve and then the bride began to sharper cry
And Will knew that her time was short, and it was do or die.
The other side was feet away, and then the logs ran out
And hope was lost in crash and toss, and all gave way to doubt.
A mere six feet of water ran cold and black beneath
As Will knelt down upon the log and stretched, and bared his teeth
And he became for two young lives a strong and willing bridge
The only hope that they would ever reach the high, safe ridge.
Her belly clutched, tears in her eyes, she crossed that bridge at last
And with a final torrent saw her savior carried past.
Consumed by something wild as him, he now could cease to roam;
He’d lost his life and found it, and at last he made it home.
Cowboy poetry...