What The 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 it’s all you own
Treasure it it’s all that’s your own
Food costs money and kids gotta eat something
If a farmer’s 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.