Mornin’ On The Desert
(Found Written on the Door of an Old Homestead Cabin)
Mornin’ on the desert, and the wind is blowin’ free
And it’s ours, jest for the breathin’, so let’s fill up, you and me.
No more stuffy cities, where you have to pay to breathe.
Where the helpless human creatures move and throng and strive and seethe.
Mornin’ on the desert, and the air is like a wine.
And it seems like all creation has been made for me and mine.
No house to stop my vision, save a neighbor’s miles away.
And the little ‘dobe shanty that belong’s to me and May.
Lonesome? Not a minute! Why I’ve got these mountains here.
That was put there just to please me, with their blush and frown and cheer.
They’re waitin’ when the summer sun gets too sizzlin’ hot,
An’ we just go campin’ in ‘em with a pan and coffee pot.
Mornin’ on the desert–I can smell the sagebrush smoke.
I hate to see it burnin’, but the land sure must be broke.
Ain’t it jest a pity that wherever a man may live
He tears up much that’s beautiful that the good God has to give?
“Sagebrush ain’t so pretty?” Well all eyes don’t see the same.
Have you ever saw the moonlight turn it into a silvery flame?
An that greasewood thicket yonder–Well, it smells just awful sweet
When the night wind has been shakin’ it–for its smell is hard to beat.
Lonesome? Well, I guess not! I’ve been lonesome in a town.
But I sure do love the desert with its stretches wide and brown.
All day through the sagebrush here the wind is blowin’ free.
An it’s just ours for the breathin’, so let’s fill up, you and me.