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Ripe Fruit | ||
| The fruit is ready on the tree. It's waiting there for you and me. We could have passed the tree right by Like birds a-wing that have to fly. The fruit might rot of sadness there If pickers did not show they care. But we know what we have to do Is pick that fruit and when we're through Give thanks to God for all his care That feeds and guards us everywhere. The fruit is very glad we came And we will never be the same. | ||
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