Classic Poem

Oi am sick for the sagebrush,
The savage sagebrush plain;
And I would give the heart of me
To ride through the sage again.

To feel it scratch my stirrup,
To smell it after rain,
I would give my very heart-blood
For that bitter breath again.

To see it meet the distant hills;
Wind through a tossing mane;
Christ! for a horse between my legs
And the sagebrush once again.