Who went to work, planning ahead
His brain and brawn bringing our bread
Heavy work sweat on his brow spread?
When pain and sickness made me cry
Who lifted me without being shy
And ran for help; I must not die?
Who taught my hands to hold a pen,
A hoe, a cutlass and a hen
So I could grow like noble men?
And can I ever cease to be
Forthright, faithful, fruitful and free,
For I have learnt my best from thee,
Ah no! the thought I cannot bear
To spend a life that will not care.
I pledge my word to be all fair,
When you are wrinkled, weak, and worn,
My well-built hands shall every morn
Fetch your heart-gladdening wine and corn,
– Patrick @nicholashunt.co.uk