Classic Poem

A Cowboy hat, and underneath
Two weapons flashing from a sheath
Of knitted brows, brows that are clear
Of storm or wrath. Perhaps once a year
A woman, she, and with such eyes
Like watch dogs kenneled in her brain,
Woe to the fool who gropes,
Likewise to him who views her with disdain.

A queen self-crowned by self-reliance,
The laws, she holds them in defiance,
Laughs long and loud at sheriff's writ,
And somehow that's the last of it.
But who is she? So indiscreet
Who over-rides you on the street
Not caring whoever you are
That's Belle Starr.

Brunette with raven hair is she,
And calls herself a Cherokee,
But who would dare dispute her claim
Or even question whence she came?
The timid press reporter
Sneaks closer and closer to her gown;
She turns abruptly, seldom speaks,
But always checks him with a frown
Which plainly means, " Down, Pompey, down! "

Arrest her! Oh, you try that game?
In Dallas many years ago
The county sheriff tried the same.
One rapid shot, the rest you know;
Still Belle loves to give her name:
" Please let me have your best cigar,
I'm Belle Starr. "

We knew her when her fingers strayed on ivory keys,
How well she played in Texas, nights long ago,
But things have changed since then, you know,
Once when we sought her out one day,
She laughed full fifty miles away,
At Dallas fashions and the fools
Who followed after social rules.

To see her mounted, and with speed
Ride far into the setting sun,
Meant simply this, a daring deed
Scarce thought of ere the deed was done,
With lawless men the most at ease,
She bets and gambles, but you'll please
Observe she never goes too far —
That's Belle Starr.

Who says she never loved? He lies!
A woman's heart in such disguise
Must surely be the wreck that hides
When love drifts outwards with the tides.
Alas for those who lived to feel,
The months and years around them reel,
And crumble into space with still
The same old yearning to fulfill.

Be merciful — condemn her not —
By scornful words or evil thoughts,
For should you strike her mountain glen
Where only hide the roughest men,
And tap the door some stormy night,
A voice might bid you to alight —
" Come in, I care not who you are,
I'm Belle Starr. "