The hiss of a viper, the smile of a friend,
a firm handshake at the day's slow end.
The desert is wide and grows cold quick
but like jackrabbit, I've got my own trick.
The viper strikes, our smiles fade;
in stretching shadows, decisions are made.
They'll call it luck I'm still hopping about,
but I'm left handed and drew without doubt.
Tale Told 