Dillon Mcmillan Poem by Phil Soar

His name was Dillon McMillan
He lived in a rusty ole shack
He was known as a forestry villain
And would often be found on his back
He brewed up some illegal whisky
Which he bottled and kept underground
He knew it was really quite risky
But hoped he would never be found

He had many a tale of the forest
About seeing a yeti and stuff
But he wasn't that sure, to be honest
If he tales were believed or were bluffs
But he knew that one day it was likely
He would succumb to all of his drinking
That he'd fall, and be hurt, be left in the dirt
And he'd wonder what had he been thinking