We Grind As One Poem by George Samuel

You know the friend you have,
That he grinds on stone,
And whether he goes abroad,
He brings his tools on board,
So if your country locks grain,
Don't expect much from him,
For he grinds for no one but him.

The love might be there, likewise the gift,
But his act is what leads him left,
With both hands he takes much grain to grind,
And would never have another on his mind,
Who has no grain to offer,
Or have neither come to suffer,
With the wet dreams of a leper.

Today I write this, not because I'm a giver,
But because my country is hard and we'll think as receivers,
So while we're starve of grain,
And in thirst drink the rain,
We still try to share from what our hands can grind,
And no matter what seeds we mix,
Our grinding begins as early as six.

For we're united when we grind,
It helps us give a hand to the blind,
Who have no seeds in their shores,
And whatever gain grinding brings,
It's a enough that the blind among us, may feel as Kings.