short grass
russell, tom
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The sun burns the snow high on the mountain
It runs and it flows as it falls
Silt and soil, down it boils
Down to the valley the gold river rolls to the plains
The rangeland lies high up from the river
The coulees are dry where the short grass grows
Fields of hay, cottonwood shade
A green patch of home through the dry dusty land the river flows
Early evening light, boys practice roping
The day fades away, the night rolls on
Lives of pride, men who ride
They keep the old skills that came up the trail from Mexico
The long river winds through green years and dry years
Brand 'em in the spring, ship 'em in the fall
The new colt foals, the mare grows old
Cycles of changes in this changeless land where the short grass grows
In this changeless land where the short grass grows