In the heart of the wild, where coyotes croon,
Stood a sanctuary known, as the Marigold Saloon.
There, amidst dust and desires, looming soon,
Reigned the world's fairest, the Saloon Queen's boon.
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She was a spectacle bright, a sight to behold,
With tales in her eyes, the color of burnished gold.
The bar was her throne, the patrons, her loyal fold,
And she the marigold, coming alive as twilight unrolled.
Her laughter was the melody, cowboys yearned to hear,
And her whispers in the wind, was a lawman's cheer.
In every poured whiskey, was gambler's winning beer,
Her presence in the saloon, was a trusted seer.
Her gown of crimson and lace, rustled soft ‘gainst the floor,
As she held court nightly, in front of the squeaky saloon door.
A revolver of charm she carried, like none had seen before,
Piercing hearts, playing parts, breaking peace, igniting war.
She was no mere maiden, no fragile daisy,
Strong as a mustang, quick as a hasty.
A tempest of beauty- wild, a little bit feisty,
The Saloon Queen reigned supreme, her presence oh so dicey.
Gamblers bet their fortunes, on her affections to win,
While cowboys spun stories, in a heartache's din.
The lawmen acted stoic, but she drew smiles on their chagrin,
Her allure was a wild rodeo, a compelling whirlwind spin.
Her existence was the essence, of dreams spun in rawhide,
A faceted crystal within, the saloon's brawling tide.
She was a queen, a siren call, to egos high on pride,
Her story was their glory, her world was the wild's bonafide.
So, gather around, lend your ears, while the moon is still pristine,
A toast to the enchantress, the queen of the saloon scene.
In the heart of the wild, her reign forever seen,
In the dusty hall of memories, lives eternally the Saloon Queen.
