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Ranch and Range |
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THE SMELL OF THE SAGE BRUSH IN THE MORNIN'
Oh, the old, red sun is risin' an' the air is clean an' fine, With jes' a little chill that tingles thro' An' starts your thoughts to millin' that the fire o' the cook "Was made jes' sort o' 'specially fer you. But what jes' makes me glad I simply am alive, My very heart with kindness sweet adornin', Is that keen an' bracin' scent that drifts across the fiats, The smell of the sage brush in the mornin'.
Have traveled many trails in this camp you call the world, An' lived a life as rough as rough could be; Am jes' a plain, old puncher with all a punchÂer's faults, But still there's things that alters come to me At that there time o' wakin'; they be thoughts so sweet an' fine, Which no artist or no poet could go scornin', When I catch that keen, clean scent that drifts across the flats, The smell of the sage brush in the mornin'. |
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