Sweetgrass Range
by Edwin Ford Piper

Come sell your pony, cowboy,
Sell your pony to me;
Braided bridle and puncher saddle,
And spend your money free.

I should sell my pony,
And ride the range no more,
Nail up my hat and my silver spurs
Above my shanty door;

And let my door stand open wide
To snow and the rain and sun;
And bury me under the green sweet-grass
Where you hear the river run.

As I came down the sweet grass range
And by the cabin door,
I heard a singing in the early dusk
Along the river shore;

I heard a singing to the early stars,
And the tune of a pony’s feet,
And the joy of the riding singer
I never shall forget.

(Hum)