See also: Patron of the Arts

Codex text

Where whither grows the simple scent of sprigs anew in furrowed soil,
For on the vine are yours and mine, a bounty blessed by honest toil.
Though brave in war and ways we are, and wander thus in victory,
It's on the vine where yours and mine are graced with health and history.

In home and hearth and battlefield, our sustenance is common held,
If on the vine are yours and mine, and always there we are compelled,
For turning home is not retreat when home is why we fight at all,
And on the vine is yours and mine, entreating in our heart the call.

So of the boons you cannot buy, there are but two we're certain of,
Not on the vine of yours or mine, is first the cost of truest love,
And that denied a purchase price, we turn our gaze to what's in hand
And of the vine are yours and mine, tomatotl from our own land.

──From A Garden's Grace: Songs of the Field, collected by Maryden Halewell