Bob was a dead wringer

For a cold gunslinger,

At least that’s how he saw himself,


He practiced shooting all day,

He had little time to play,

And then, he put his gun on a shelf,


One day, Bob sought his gun

For more shootin’ fun,

But his gun was nowhere to be found!


Bob was upset and sad,

But then, he got mad,

The thief may still be in town!


Then, Bob heard a gun pop!

And then heard it stop,

Bob ran to investigate!


Before you can say, “Mister,”

He saw the thief was his twin sister!

Both “gunslingers” were only eight!   😊


4 thoughts on “The GUNSLINGERS”

  1. I like the beautiful rhymes and flow of the poem; you tell this great story with an unexpected end. I just hope that children do not play too much with guns even if they are toy guns. As a European I have never supported the excessive permissivity of guns in the USA. Progressive restriction looks nearly impossible given the enormous power of the NRA. This is how my American artist-writer Mario Savioni protests against that lobby:


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