In fields where sunlight gently weaves,
The whisper of the wind believes,
That every seed beneath the soil,
Will rise and dance, a farmer’s toil.

The earth, a canvas rich and wide,
Where dreams of green and gold reside,
With tender hands and hopeful eyes,
We sow the future ‘neath the skies.

The rain, a melody of grace,
Caressing each and every place,
As roots embrace the soil’s embrace,
In silent growth, a slow-paced race.

And when the harvest moon is bright,
We gather grains in soft twilight,
A bounty reaped from earth’s kind heart,
A cycle ends, anew to start.