LYRIC FOR SALE

By Ph. Ness

The Horse Grandpa Chose



Verse 1

Grandpa leaned across the rail
while horses circled round.
A little bay stood by the gate,
four quiet feet on ground.
He checked her teeth, he checked her legs,
sure his hand had picked her out.
She pushed her nose against his palm
before he turned about.

Chorus

She read the ground before he did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when he let go.
Grandpa never called it love—
he kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Verse 2

When Grandpa’s knees began to hurt,
I took her down the lane.
She knew the washed-out crossing spots,
could smell the coming rain.
I thought the reins were teaching me
which way a horse should go.
Then one day halfway through the creek,
she stopped and told me no.

Chorus

She read the ground before I did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when I let go.
I never learned to call it love—
I kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Verse 3

My boy was eight the summer when
her muzzle started gray.
He carried apples to her stall
at nearly break of day.
I watched him reach beneath her mane.
She lowered down her head.
He never had to pull the rein.
She followed where he led.

Chorus

She read the ground before we did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when we let go.
We never learned to call it love—
we kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Bridge

The winter that she couldn’t rise,
we bedded deep with straw.
Grandpa’s old bridle hung above,
the first thing that she saw.
My boy sat quiet by her neck.
I stood where Grandpa stood.
Three sets of hands had held those reins.
She understood us good.

Final Chorus

She read the ground before we did,
swung wide around the holes.
She took the high side of the creek
and stopped when we let go.
We never learned to call it love—
we kept her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.

Outro

The bridle’s still above the door.
No hoof marks cross the green.
My boy grabs Grandpa’s old straw broom.
We keep her stall swept clean.
The horse Grandpa chose kept choosing us.