There was one woman Pancho Villa could never "marry" much less tame for a night. He saw her in the hills south of Agua Prieta, just prior to his disastrous defeat in that border town. She was a spitfire from Sonora, an untamed colt, a scorpion of the heart with her thick In-din mane of jet black hair, like a crow's wing and ever so saucy. It would take more than a general and his Del Norte legions to tame this heart.
"Here’s to the kids who are different,
Kids they call crazy or dumb,
Kids who don’t fit,
With the guts and the grit,
Who dance to a different drum.
Here’s to the kids who are different,
Kids with a mischievous streak,
For when they have grown,
As history has shown,
It’s their difference that makes them unique."