Gamblers Loss Poem by John DeBona

The gambler had a losing hand
Lost his wife and lost his land
Through the canyons he must go
Jagged edge and death below
To sleep at night in solitude
Wake alone in a bitter mood
Blowing dust to quench his thirst
Scorpions, rats, and all the worst
What he's faced to stand again
Will make him stronger in the end
Those who took what he loved best
Will now be put to painful test
To drain their blood and let it flow
Soaked by sand and down below
Wrinkles on a weathered face
Time will tell of the victors race