The Ballad of the Blue Moon Saloon

Southwest Montana has an ol’

Small bar near railroad tracks.

It has a lot of spunk and soul,

Near full of Jills and Jacks.

He searched for love in places strange;

And strolled through two glass doors

To see her running, making change

For people drinking Coors.

He looked at her, she looked at him,

Across the noisy room.

He flashed a toothsome grin at her,

Was hoping love would bloom.

The night was young, and he was not,

But not aware of it.

The girl had served shot after shot,

And craved to rest a bit.

He sidled up to order beer,

He asked for one or two,

And waited for what seemed a year

To tell her his "love" true.

He flew at any chance to talk,

She found his chatter void.

And wished he’d leave and take a walk,

To leave her less annoyed.

He asked if he could take her out,

Get to know her better,

She told him that she’d do without

His spoken love letter.

Attempted one more gambit move,

Emboldened by the drink.

She asked him if he’d please remove,

Didn’t need time to think.

Described inutile kinds of love,

In “love” wrong time, wrong place.

Pride-wounded hombre, home he drove,

Too late to save his face.

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