Edwin Ford Piper

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.