Let’s picture the scene of walls glistening clean,
Painted white in the heat of the sun.
And the 189 who stood in line
For the Star till the battle was done.
They came from afar to fight the good fight,
And chase the bold tyrant away.
But the tyrant stood fast, his men were amassed,
As they stood ground and decided to stay.
Sam Houston had tried an army he cried,
His hopes for republic he sought.
Of the men he’d command, this one final stand,
At the Alamo time they had bought.
Famous faces stood tall as they guarded their wall,
These “Texicans” fighting so true.
They stood side by side till all of them died,
Their bodies all battered and blue.
Travis died first with a terrible burst
Of gunfire so thick and so fast.
He stood not a chance at this mighty advance,
From Mexicans greatly amassed.
Crockett was next, his musket reflexed,
Killing all who came into view.
At last when he died, a torch by his side,
The powder store erupted and blew.
Jim Bowie was sick, his illness cryptic,
He hung betwixt death to save face.
Two pistols at hand, he would die for the land
He’d adopted with passion and grace.
He fought for his life with his great Bowie knife,
And died with his pride set in place.
Well Santa Anna had won, the battle was done,
He had vanquished his enemy brave.
But the legend lives on, the Mexicans gone,
The Lone Star still stands to engrave.
(The Alamo, February 23 to March 6, 1836).