Les Moore, an outlaw, roamed the West,
Robbing and killing randomly.
Many a lawman tried his best
To bring in Les Moore legally.
Many a lawman bit the dust;
Shot down in cold blood by this one
Who only sneered at fair and just,
While adding notches to his gun.
One day, while carving such a notch,
The pistol slipped and hit the ground.
All Moore could do was grimly watch
The gun fire into him a round.
Gunned down dead by his 44,
Here lies Les Moore, no less, no more.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Here lies Lester Moore four slugs from a.44 No Les No Moore