Without a Gun

You can have my gun, but you'll take my book when you pry
my cold, dead fingers off of the binding.
― Stephen King

A summer evening
Gold and bright,

The last rays
of bright sunlight,

The sky pale
Above the woods

The Moon rising,
The world obscured.

The evening lingers
Calm and mild

So innocent
And undefiled,

Crows wing
To the rooky woods

To shelter and
To feel secure.

But there's no refuge
Safe from wolves

Beasts that kill
And steal your goods,

I'd sleep outside
Beneath the stars

But scars have taught me
Be on guard

And so I watch
The twilight glow

Secure behind
My walls of stone,

And toast with wine
The setting sun,

Safe in my house
Without a gun.

© 2020, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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