The Rambler Poem by C.A. Morrow

When the Rambler's race is nearly run
and the dust has long since settled down
he knows he can never give up the gun
nor let memories tempt him to whiskey drown
The years have faded many places
The fights, the women, the mounting losses
Friends long dead; he'll never forget their faces
The hard times, the tears, the laughs, the countless crosses
To look back, he turns with a wry smile
at things he's done, left unfinished, (and yes) accomplished
The chapters of a life of adventure and toil
No family, no gold, all that youth had wished
For the Rambler would never stay so still
There was always miles to wander tomorrow
That colored rainbow over a distant hill
A youth so spent, never able to borrow
Yet, no moments to regret, never one to pity
as the sands through the hourglass poured
There was always another town or city
where pleas of conformity were always ignored
So now as he sees the near-setting sun
his sails seek not a wind, but a rest
The Rambler knows his race was won
as he boldly turns his sail
to the west