We think alone But there's a bit of you…
We think alone we tread the view
But you give us an entire crew
Plied many sickle and trowel,
To grow fruits, brussel and truffle,
Can one crop or cook alone your taste buds tickle?
No, your hunger quenched when there plied many sickle.
There's a bit of you, O father
In quiet one who shuns pleasure
In one bold, as a few measure
Another gracious, yet clever.
In clarion call and in every morning dew,
In him, her and me and all there's a bit of you
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