Poem Death and Salt and Stale Dry Air, Just me, and my wife, Our kids, And a million miles of Sagebrush, to spare... Our oldest, Darla, is cleaning out the latrine, While her younger sisters, (10 and 13), Are playing in the desert, Nowhere to be seen, Young Hank, and Tom Jr., are out grazing the cattle, When I hear crown vic, Drive up the road, ***Prittle Prattle*** Out of the car, Steps a man in a suit, Prim, and proper, with eyes dark as soot. "Yer boys out there, grazing the steer?" I looked him in the eye, And answered him, quite clear "Yessir, they grazing 'em, 'bout 200 head, or quite near" "And you got a deed for that land, is that right?" "Uh, no sir, that land is empty desert, that should be plain to your sight" "Well just cuz it empty, don't mean you own it. I'm from the Bureau of Land Management, just so you know it." He pulls out a paper, from his brown leather suit-case, And holds it up, right to my face. "Yer gonna have to stop, this here is public land." I looked him in the eye, and began to raise my hand... "Don't public mean I got a right to it? It ain't nothing but sagebrush and sand!" "You making commercial profit, ain't you now, sir? That commercial profit, comes from the taxpayers coffer. That land ain't yours, and it also ain't mine, It belongs to Uncle Sam, Now call back yer boys and the herd, and graze your cattle behind the property line" Will finish everything tomorrow. Need to go further down the sagebrush rebellion rabbithole to finish this.