Put my feet on the ground

and put my hand to the plow.

I’ll be working here

until the sun goes down.

All our lives we have lived

drawn from the dirt we’re in.

All the hope we’ve grown

came from the sweat on our skin.

 

The ground thaws in the spring;

plow the furrow, plant the seed.

Then pray the sky has care

to bring us all we need.

Then, come the autumn moon,

we can harvest our lives,

and when the winter comes,

we might survive the time.

 

We dig a well so deep,

that we have water sweet.

We dig the garden long,

that we might grow here, strong.

We raise some animals

and hunt the mountain side,

out here,

we break the Earth,

or it breaks us,

and we die.

 

With my feet on the ground

and my hands on the plow,

we be living here,

until the Sun burns out.

A place we made

and paid for,

with the sweat from our brow

and the blood in our veins.

This is our home, now.

 

 

HG – 2020