Beneath the sky so vast and wide,
The farmer tends his land with pride.
With sunlit mornings, seeds are sown,
In hopes of harvest fully grown.
The gentle rustle of the leaves,
As nature weaves her quiet reprieves.
The soil, a canvas rich and deep,
Where dreams of bounty softly creep.
Through seasons’ dance, the cycles turn,
As fires of passion in hearts still burn.
The hands that toil, the sweat that drips,
Craft stories of life’s enduring scripts.
When twilight falls and stars ignite,
The farmer rests with calm delight.
For in the fields where labor sings,
Lies the promise of the coming springs.