Father of the Land

I see tears in my food, weeping because of unjust and brutality.
I see hands belonging to the roots, covered in frugality.
For he gives us food.
Works in rain, sun and loo;
And lives for the gude.
Spent the night in frost for long;
Spent the day in gusty firey warmth.
God bless the man who sows the wheat.
In the land of gentle folks,
He gives us something to feed on our forks.
He wails for rain, waits for land.
The clouds have started to lie
And nonetheless his tears dries.
May lord bless the man who toils.
In summer, winter and soil.

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