The Thirsty Warden

He rides at night, as the pale moonlight
Casts shadows across the trail
Though the demons from hell were afer him
And the devil was on his tail.

He spurs his great horse onwards;
In the silence nothing moves
But the sound of creaking leather
And his mustang's flying hooves.

He thunders through a herd of elk
That scatter far and wide,
But he doesnt seem to notice
Or check his furious stride.

A grizzly bear on haunches
Disputes the right of way
But the rider is undaunted;
They'd meet another day.

he fords a swollen river
And jumps a deep ravine.
Time is slowly running out
for this anxious man in green!

The sweat runs down his noble brow
And flanks of his flying mare
salvation lies within his grasp;
His fate hangs by a hair

Neath the shadow of his Stetson,
See his tortured twisted face;
For he knows within the hour
He'll win or lose the race.

For the "Chief" has given him time off;
One night to spend in town,
And in another sixty minutes
The pubs are closing down.

Don Rose, in Alberta Game Warden, Fall 2006