The bread that I eat
Grows in the bosom of mother earth
Warmed by the warm rays of the sun
Watered by the silver streams of rain
Picked by the hands of my brethren
Ground by the ingenuity of man
Backed in a warm oven
I give thanks
For mother earth
For father sun
For the water falling from the sky
For my brethren who pick the grain, grind the grain, and cook the bread
All that I am, all that I will be
Comes from the earth
Nourished by the sun
Watered by the sky
Prepared by my brethren
I give thanks