In the dawn’s gentle embrace, the fields awaken,
Silhouettes of farmers, their stories unspoken.
With every seed sown, their dreams are taken,
Into the soil where life’s cycle is woven.

Golden grains dance under the sun’s warm gaze,
Rows of green, a testament to their days.
Hands rough and strong, yet tender in ways,
Nurturing life through nature’s maze.

The plow’s rhythmic song, a melody of toil,
Furrows of hope carved deep in the soil.
Seasons change, yet their spirits never recoil,
Anchored by the bond of earth and oil.

As twilight falls, painting the sky in hues,
Farmers rest, bathed in the evening’s blues.
Their legacy grows, in fields kissed by dew,
Whispers of the earth, forever renewed.