Golden fields under azure skies,
Whispering secrets of harvest time.
Sun-kissed grains with a gentle sigh,
Awaiting the touch of hands so kind.

The farmer’s toil, a song unsung,
In the rhythm of the scythe’s sweet swing.
Beneath the sun, where shadows hung,
He gathers fruits that seasons bring.

In twilight’s glow, the barns now full,
With nature’s gifts, so pure, so bright.
A time to rest, a heart to lull,
As stars emerge to light the night.

The harvest moon, a silent guide,
Watches over the fields below.
In every seed, a promise lies,
Of life anew, in future’s glow.