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