Desert Sage

My FEET are treading the city streets,
But my heart is far astray, 
Over the distant desert hills
Where the sage grows cool and grey. 
Where the scent of the sage is keen and sweet
That flies on the wind away.
I hear the noise of the busy town
And the crowds that pass me by; 

But my thoughts are away to the distant hills 
As wild birds homeward fly. 

I am one with the hills and the fragrant sage, 
The wind, and the autumn sky.
And ever the western winds do blow,
From the Land of Yesterday, 

Where the silvery plumes of desert sage 
Fragrantly bend and sway; 

(Oh, my feet are treading the city streets— 
But my heart is far away!)
Edith Osborne