Tuesday, January 18, 2011

The Storyteller's Daughter

On a starry night he sat
Back against a fallen log
His hat pushed back, his pipe aglow
He spun the tales of old
A voice of gravel told the stories
Of stampedes, blizzards, gully-washers
Rock-slides, dust-storms,  russlers
 And open plains and mountaintops
While around the fire we smoked
And listened to the yarns
But I had my eyes on someone else
As she her father watched
Her warm gray eyes and nut-brown hair
Flickered in the firelight
And I, unnoticed, sat and pined for her to plight
Her troth to me and walk with me
Then ride into the distance
Tomorrow I'd ask, I'd take a chance
Her first, if she'd have me, and then her father
For the hand of the storyteller's daughter


  1. +JMJ+

    This is very romantic. The speaker has the landscapes and adventures of all the world competing for his attention, but someone else has won it--and his heart. =)

  2. Thank you both. I liked this one myself - read way too many westerns in my younger years, or perhaps it was not enough.

    Now to come up with more ideas...

    Six bottles were empty
    Six bottles were not
    But Jonny kept drinking
    To be forgot