Short Grass

The sun burns the snow high on the mountains
It runs and it grows as it falls
Silt and soil, down it boils
Down to the valleys, the gold river rolls
To the plains

The range land lies high up from the river
The coulees are dry where the short grass grows
Fields of hay, cottonwood shade
Green patch of home through the high 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 them in the spring ship them in the fall
A new colt fole, 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