Beneath the golden sun, their shadows long and lean,
Farmers toil in fields, a sight serene,
With hands calloused, hearts full of grace,
They nurture Earth, life’s tender embrace.

Through seasons’ whims and weather’s might,
They rise at dawn, greet each day’s light,
With patience sown in furrows deep,
They whisper dreams to seeds that sleep.

In the silence of the early morn,
Where hopes are planted, futures born,
They weave a tapestry of green,
A labor of love, pure and keen.

When harvest comes, a bounteous yield,
Their spirit’s strength is revealed,
For every grain and fruit we share,
A farmer’s touch, a silent prayer.