In fields of gold, where sunlight weaves,Amidst the rustling, gentle leaves,The earth bestows its bounteous grace,A harvest time, a warm embrace.The amber waves in rhythmic dance,In endless rows, they take their stance,The patient toil of hands and heart,A timeless scene, a work of art.The whispers of the autumn breeze,Carry tales of fruitful trees,Where every grain and every corn,Speaks of life, of dreams reborn.Beneath the sky’s expansive dome,The harvest calls the reapers home,To gather blessings, rich and pure,In nature’s cycle, strong and sure.