Beneath the golden rays of dawn’s embrace,
The farmer toils with hands both rough and kind.
Each furrowed line a testament to grace,
As seeds of hope are sown with heart and mind.

The whispering winds through verdant rows do weave,
A melody of nature’s gentle sigh.
The soil, a canvas, fertile to receive,
The promise of the earth beneath the sky.

With every season’s turn, the cycles spin,
From spring’s first bloom to autumn’s final yield.
The farmer’s heart beats steady deep within,
A rhythm in the symphony revealed.

And as the twilight falls upon the land,
The fields repose, their bounty to bestow.
The farmer rests, fulfilled by nature’s hand,
In harmony, they reap what they did sow.