El Muerte

By Andrew R. Duckworth

A pale horse
A pale horse with a ghostly man
With bullets holes from toe to hand
Ride alone with no criminal band,
But haunt the old Texas land,
With no head about his neck.

Vidal
Vidal was the man put to rest,
But now rides to put folk to test,
Haunting their thoughts, invading dreams.
He can be found if you follow the screams,
Out in the old outlaw west.

He rides out there and rides alone
Making not one town his home.
He has a score to settle somewhere
Out there in the dusty outlaw air,
On his pale horse, riding nowhere.