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Array
(
[sid] => 39096
[catid] => 1
[aid] => mick
[title] => DESPERATE GROUND
[time] => 2004-03-17 22:30:32
[hometext] => Analogy that uses gold as a metaphor for anything that is prescious to you that's in peril
[bodytext] => My trail led out of wilderness, a goat path headed down. For years somehow I had stood the test of mining desperate ground. Now with rifle cradled like a child, and pistols here and there. With eyes this world had not beguiled. That had a look that said: "Fair's fair. I came down off my mountain when several shots cut loose. I reigned my horse still, spun him round, gave him both my boots. He scrambled to the trails first bend. and with a spank to the flank while jumping. I turned and shot that first fool. By God, a levered carbine's something! They gave up on the ambush, now they'd turn their thoughts to sneaking. I knew they would try and work a flush, it set my brain to thinking. Once five to one, now four to gun, for they're not through with me. Then, one dashed, I shot, he crashed, and i'm just hunting three. Then a nervous voice said; "Toss your gold. We'll let it go at that!" I dropped down, crawled, half circled sound, and kept my body flat. I rose behind that nervous voice, now sounding ill at ease. I said; " Bushwackers pay is lead, not gold." As my finger squeezed. The other two, was of one mind. I guess they'd had enough. I never saw their faces. Lord, they rode their ponies rough. I gentled out my mount. Nudged him heading down. That night I fed him oats. That night I slept in town. [comments] => 8 [counter] => 260 [topic] => 31 [informant] => rhymeandreason [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 10 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => StoryPoetry )
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