The outlaws are coming,

drawing rumbles and quakes.

The walls humming in unison,

tables dancing with aches.

In the distance there’s motion

like a wave of red dust.

Hooves that clatter in rhythm,

masked men, demons in gust.

The town’s people continue

like a peaceful afternoon.

They ignore the closing chaos,

unnoticed approaching monsoon. 

A young lady kneels down

placing her palm on the ground.

A thunderous screech in the distance,

the cavalry’s victory inbound.