Billy The Kid Rode Out

Poem By kendall thomas

Billy the Kid rode out to pick May-bloomed flowers.
Riding a dapple-gray horse fleet as the wind,
he crossed the desert, one fresh-scented morning,
looking long for the sweetest flowers ever known
for the young girl he loved, pretty Paulita,
who lived at Sumner by the Pecos River.

In the house of Pete Maxwell by the river,
Billy brought her a bright bouquet of sweet flowers
for the fairest girl in Sumner, Paulita.
When he rode in on his swift steed like the wind,
she cried, 'They're the sweetest flowers ever known.'
And young Billy stayed through the night till morning.

But brother Pete came home early that morning
and saw Billy's dapple-gray by the river;
he cursed himself harshly for not having known,
and when he smelled the lush bouquet of sweet flowers,
whose scent came wafting through the hall on the wind,
he planned an end for Billy and Paulita.

Billy rode off waving bye to Paulita,
promising to return to her some morning,
and he spurred his swift gray and rode like the wind
from where Fort Sumner goes down to the river.
And Billy rode through a desert of bright flowers,
the names of so many to most were unknown.

But Billy the Kid he soon came to be known,
and his sweetheart was a girl named Paulita,
for whom he brought a sweet bouquet of bright flowers,
long years ago one fresh-scented May morning,
where Fort Sumner lies by the Pecos River,
where the May-bloomed flowers blow in an endless wind.

Over the campo santo blows this same wind.
The girl who was loved lies in her grave unknown,
where Fort Sumner lies by the Pecos River.
She was Billy's love, a girl named Paulita,
who was betrayed by Pete Maxwell that morning
when Billy brought her a bouquet of bright flowers.

Now the wind moans by the grave of Paulita,
who lies unknown after many a morning,
by the river where in May blooms the sweet flowers.

Comments about Billy The Kid Rode Out

Awesome story-telling. Perfection of purpose. Beautiful.

5 out of 5
0 total ratings

Other poems of THOMAS

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through the brown hills
and budding trees,
where dark, little birds

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on the front lawn
soft spring come and gone
and summer sun
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Apocalypse Of Memory

From the apocalypse of memory
You came to remind me
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Of days when rain fell on muddy mounds

Angel Wings

The gentle
against your cheek:
angel wings


I am the wind whispering of eternity.
I am silence.
I am the junkie on the street corner.
I am the moralist who condemns.

Pagan Thoughts

I shouted my name through the valley,
but there was no answer.
My name died on my lips.
No stone would consecrate it.