by Gregg Oakley


Between the soil, tree and wind,

I have been given a job to do.

No one else seems interested

As I walk around in the street,

Picking up only what I’ve been given.


A boisterous wind blew and blew,

Just like a young boy shaking the tree

Down come the pecans.


We have been given the earth

And the earth provides for us,

A perpetual feast.

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