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.
(Edwin Ford Piper)
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