Thoughts of the garden
And what you can grow
The making of bread
And the rising of dough
All mixed together
For an interesting knead
The starters for proprietary
All mixed by the same breed
They cast a little flower
For a water mixed paste
The smell of the aroma
Glued in for a taste
To rise upon times desire
To loaf in the pan
Baked hot by fire
Risen high with a golden gold
Now right for consumption
By the hands that control
All rights to the peoples knead
To bake their own bread
For the mouths that they feed
Whose starter has soured and cannot rise so
They must eat of the bread
Fed by the hands that control