The Drifter

He blew in like a hurricane
One dusty day in June.
A drifter clad in ivory,
Appeared that afternoon.

He said he came from Nazareth,
A little town back East.
He told us He was on the trail
Of a sly and crafty beast.

He wore no six gun on His hip,
No rifle on his back.
But I saw a reaper’s sickle,
Tucked in behind his pack.

His horse was white, like holy light,
It’s eyes were polished gold.
We stood in awe of what we saw
And watched the scene unfold.

That crafty beast was raising hell,
Down at the town saloon.
The drifter calmly called him out,
Just as the clock struck noon.

There's a score they had to settle,
And settle it, they would.
It would be an epic battle,
Between evil and good.

The pits of hell were opened wide,
And flames rained from the sky.
The townsfolk ran and hid themselves,
Afraid they all might die.

And then I saw that sickle fall,
And heard an anguished howl!
The scent of brimstone filled the air,
The odor, deathly foul.

When the dust had finally settled,
The Drifter stood alone.
Old Nick was nowhere to be found,
His whereabouts unknown.

The drifter said he locked him up,
In prison, I assume.
He claimed that pit would only be
A temporary tomb.

He warned us he’d return again,
Upon old Nick’s release.
One final war, to end all wars,
And bring the dawn of peace.

He told the townsfolk to prepare,
And fix what we can fix.
“The bridegroom will be coming soon,
It’s time to trim your wicks.”

He tipped his hat, then rode away,
His business here was done.
And we all watched him disappear
Into the setting sun.

He rode out like a hurricane
Into the evening sky.
This drifter clad in heaven’s light,
Was seen by every eye!