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What These Hands Have Grown

Blessed am I to sit here today

Taking this time to carve out a place

Where I may find some rest and give others solace

To remind and remember, what can't be bought with dollars

From your pockets. Not everything.

It's something I should remember.

Treasure It its all you own

Treasure It its all that's your own

Food costs money and kids gotta eat something

If a farmers work is honest the contribution won't be unnoticed.

I wish I were a Farmer.

To be satisfied with what these hands have grown

No food of mine sits in the bellies of others

Instead this strange secret twisting which each only knows.

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