In fields where golden grains do sway,
Beneath the vast and endless skies,
The farmer toils from break of day,
With hopeful heart and watchful eyes.

The plow carves deep in fertile earth,
As seeds of promise find their place,
Each tender shoot a sign of birth,
In nature’s gentle, warm embrace.

The sunlit hours stretch long and wide,
As sweat and soil become one,
A dance where labor and dreams collide,
Beneath the ever-setting sun.

And when the harvest moon does rise,
With bounty full and spirits high,
The whispering fields beneath the skies,
Sing songs of life; a lullaby.