Billy The Kid Poem by Mario, Lucien, Rene Odekerken
Billy The Kid
Dust rises beneath his boots,
a revolver rests easy in his grip.
Too young to be feared,
too wild to be ignored.
The law calls him outlaw,
the people call him legend.
He laughs in the face of death,
knowing it follows close behind.
A name whispered in saloons,
etched into the desert wind.
Gone before twenty-one,
but never truly gone.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/28/2026 8:27:14 PM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
