My Sweet Amy

My Sweet Amy

My sweet Amy
My god how she takes my breath away
Bending down, touching the cold steel of the crank handle
Trying to turn over the old tractor in the frost before dawn
Freezing cold in the frozen mud
Steam rising from anything alive
Didn't bother me this morning just for the thinking
Of how she cocks her head leaning against the fender of the pick-up
Or of that look in her eye when she wants to be taken

My sweet Amy
My God, how she waits for me with that smile when I come home
Dinner waitin' for this mean old bastard after a day in the dirt and manure
Or a long cold night in the saddle
The smell of sweat and blood, rope and old leather
But, Oh God, sweeter than Jesus, when she takes my chapped and calloused hands
And holds them to her breasts
When I see the dirt under my fingernails and the black grime worn into my fingers
Against the whiter-than-snow of her skin, purer than mountain run-off
When she gets so close that I can feel her breath boiling my blood
It is then that I know that without her
I am worth not much more than the stalls that I clean
Or the miles of fences that I ride

My sweet Amy
Damn, if she don't with just a fingertip on my forearm
Or with just a toss of her hair, her hand on the back of my neck
Take me from sonofabitch to some kind of wonderful
I'd give her everything if I had it

My sweet Amy
These are the things that I would tell her
That there is no corral that could ever keep me from coming home to her
And no Farm Bureau or mortgage banker either
And while the smell of soft buckskin and rich earth, of wind and big sky
Is nearer to my heart than money
It is nothing compared to the smell of her hot breath on my body
Or the movement of her skin against mine
Oh God, there are no pastures greener or greater
Than when I think of the way her heart beats against the side of my face
Or when I feel my hands on the small of her back pressing her into me, me into her

Sweet God, how did you give a human being such power over my heart and soul
How did you love me so much that I could even consider that I might be worthy
Of touching the hem of her skirt

But then I remember
That after the fields have been tended
After the animals have been fed and the machinery put away and the barn closed
That after firewood has been brought in for the night
And all of the work for the day is done
It is then that she feeds me, and tends to my heart
And I remember that after all, she is my sweet Amy