Saturday, September 6, 2014

The Sweetheart of Juan Flores

Grizzled old Martina slouches in the sun,
Wrapped in her rebosa, now her day is done.
Begging at the Mission with her black dress on,
What can she remember of the bandit Juan?
Dusky young Juan Flores with the evil eyes,
Riding on a pilfered horse, carbine at his thighs.
Shots- beyond EI Toro at Capistrano Town,
Dying men who stumbled, blood upon her gown
¬Indian Martina, when the moon is bright
Hears across the Plaza a rider in the night
Halt at her adobe-Ah, never more his tread
Who met a grim riata, looped and stained with red.


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