I saw him as the door swung in-
Escorted by a gust of wind.
A scarf obscured his lower face,
And yet he moved with feline grace.
His greatcoat covered most his form,
And yet his height above the norm-
A tricorn hat with rakish tilt-
His rapier had a jeweled hilt.
“Faith! But ‘tis a brutal night-
Yon wind doth blow wi’ all her might”!
He doffed his scarf, unwrapped his face
And hung each garment in it’s place.
The face which met these eyes of mine-
To say the least was saturnine.
The cheekbones high, a rugged brow..
A nose just like a clipper’s prow.
His mouth was quick with quip or grin-
An old knife scar across his chin.
He smiled, but I was not surprised-
That smile could not quite reach his eyes.
“I’ll have some food, p’raps a dram-
An' pray, don’t ask me who I am”.
The name would not mean ought to you
To some it would, I vow ‘tis true.
An’ mate, I’ve sailed the Spanish Main-
Faced flamin’ guns, an’ hurricanes-
Been shipwrecked on a tropic isle…
Seen ports that’s never known a smile.
I’ve fought wi’ sword, an’ knife, an’ gun-
Not once have I been known to run”.
He ate his grub, an’ off to bed-
A pistol tucked beneath his head…
He left when dawn was gray and pale-
To live another Traveler’s Tale.
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[This message has been edited by Gunslinger (edited 03-13-2000).]