Lines To My Lady.45 Poem by Gordon Cross

For wide open spaces the rifle's all right,
Where there's time, space, and distance, and plenty of light,
But for work on the instant, when shooting is tight,
You can't get the slant with a rifle.

So, I'll say at times it is all very well,
But for deviltry, death and the raising of hell,
The Colt.45 is unusually swell,
And will go where you can't with a rifle.

You can splatter a dollar at seventy feet
With a stunning precision that's pleasing and neat;
So I'll still make the claim that the Colt can't be beat,
And will do what you can't with a rifle.

So when something it crashing the alders ahead,
And it's death to the brute, or you in the stead,
Let the Colt automat, the fist-filling gat, the chunky blue cat,
Chuck its competent lead.