These hands.
Just look at these hands.
May the above bless the work of these hands
Who sift and toil so much through the dirt.
That the dirt becomes a haven for the living.
The dirt was there before we were.
Some say we came from the dirt.
Others whisper we will go back to the dirt.
And we were taught to fear this dirt.
Because we escaped it.
When we don’t want it to be the indicator of final rest.
But now we know the dirt adds a missing component.
Called work which builds us.
So when we kneel down to gather this ground.
The work of these hands is put inside so that we multiply.
So our work becomes their work becomes your work.
And it all started because of one, toiling hand.
I don't think I have to ask the above to bless
Because we are already blessed.