Dancing Ponies

There known as the ferel mustang.
They live on the high country plain.
They herd in the canyons on cold frosty nights,
And race 'cross the prairie in the warm sunlight.
They've never been haltered or penned.
They were born to be free as the wind.
I just can't imagine them saddled or reined,
The wild mustang ponies way out on the range.

Dancing ponies, on the plain,
Feel the sunshine, feel the rain.
Feel the bitter wind of winter, blowing through your mane.
But when springtime grasses grow, and the summer breezes blow,
You'll be dancing ponies once again, dancing ponies on the plain.

I've never seen beauty so wild.
I've loved them since I was a child.
I'd lay on the prairie my ear to the ground,
And listen for the hoofbeats a thumdering sound.
I could feel my heart pound like a drum,
As over the grassland they'd run.
The great mustang stallions, the mares with their foals,
Wild dancing ponies with fire in their souls.

Dancing ponies, on the plain,
Feel the sunshine, feel the rain.
Feel the bitter wind of winter, blowing through your mane.
But when springtime grasses grow, and the summer breezes blow,
You'll be dancing ponies once again, dancing ponies on the plain.

Their coats are of chestnut or gray,
Bright appalousa or bay.
They're black as the midnight or white as the snow,
The emblem of beauty as proudly they go.
They're the subject of torment of man,
Stampeded and slaughtered and canned.
Yet they only live for their freedom to stay
Wild dancing ponies on the great western plain.

Dancing ponies, on the plain,
Feel the fury, feel the pain.
Feel the awful fear of capture, flowing through your brain.
But when the world has come to know, how you need your place to roam,
You'll be dancing ponies once again, dancing ponies on the plain.

Dancing ponies, on the plain,
Feel the sunshine, feel the rain.

© Larry Jones 1999