And everybody turned to hear his tale.
He had a thousand yarns inside his head.
They waited for him ready with their mirth,
And creeping smiles –
Then suddenly turned pale,
Grew still, and gazed upon the earth.
They heard no tale. No further word was said.
And with his untold fun, half-leaning on his gun,
They left him – dead.
Contributed by Bernart Bartleby - 2014/8/7 - 13:27
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