"The Old Rifle"
The rifle was long, sleek and looked old.
Scratches and dents from stories untold
Maybe, a constant companion, and only real friend
To some lonely adventurer, a true Mountain Man
Who headed to ridge line, in search of high dreams
And camped with his rifle, near quiet streams
Perhaps with the natives of the open frontier
Who fought fierce battles, while showing no fear
The rifle could've traveled, along the Oregon trail.
And helped settle the west, but, who can really tell?
It might've even been, in an old farmers' stable
Where it waited patiently, to put game on the table
I wonder if it accompanied a long wagon train.
Or help to kill buffalo out on the great plain
Lost is its history, and the place of its birth.
To quietly be retired, above a cabin hearth
Where a musing old man would sit for a spell
And wonder the stories the rifle could tell...
TW
The rifle was long, sleek and looked old.
Scratches and dents from stories untold
Maybe, a constant companion, and only real friend
To some lonely adventurer, a true Mountain Man
Who headed to ridge line, in search of high dreams
And camped with his rifle, near quiet streams
Perhaps with the natives of the open frontier
Who fought fierce battles, while showing no fear
The rifle could've traveled, along the Oregon trail.
And helped settle the west, but, who can really tell?
It might've even been, in an old farmers' stable
Where it waited patiently, to put game on the table
I wonder if it accompanied a long wagon train.
Or help to kill buffalo out on the great plain
Lost is its history, and the place of its birth.
To quietly be retired, above a cabin hearth
Where a musing old man would sit for a spell
And wonder the stories the rifle could tell...
TW
Last edited:
