Brad's Naturals Smooth PEANUT BUTTER

Each morning, I Pluck grapes from the vine Their dew caught in a frost of stillness. And my cold hands They pay no mind A buffer to the touch Between my index and my thumb O, index and thumb! Thank you for getting us this far. This is why I come in the morning To pluck grapes It takes a while for the bloods to reach my hands And so, I think, “What an opportunity…” Oh! I forgot to mention where I take them. For the grapes, they’re still cold You remember? From the frost and the touch? I take them, you see To the beach A la playa It isn’t far really And I bury them The grapes, that is In the sand of the beach with the sun beating down I bury the grapes there I unpluck the grapes between tiny dunes I put them down there and I cup my cold hands and I scoop the hot sands and I pour it on top The grapes! Who knows, who knows Where those little things go That we lay down to rest with the sun Off I go, off I went Off the shore, time well spent For my day, it has barely begun And my hands, now they grip All the bloods at the tip Pinky, ring, middle, index, and thumb 5.799/10