Upon the morning’s gentle call,
The fields awaken, lush and green,
Beneath the sun’s embrace, they sprawl,
A farmer’s dream, a pastoral scene.

From seed to sprout, from dawn to dusk,
The toil of hands, a sacred trust,
In furrows deep, where earth and sky
In whispered tones of growth comply.

The dance of seasons, round and round,
In every leaf, a story bound,
With every harvest, life renews,
A cycle old, yet ever new.

Beneath the stars, the fields at rest,
The farmer dreams of what comes next,
In every furrow, hope sown deep,
The promise of the earth to keep.