Sweetgrass Range

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

“If 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 the snow and the rain and sun;
And bury me under the green sweetgrass
Where you hear the river run.”

As I came down the sweetgrass 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.
The joy of the riding singer
I never shall forget.