In the golden dawn of waking fields,
Farmers tread the earth with gentle care,
Hands embrace the soil that yields,
A promise of harvest in the air.

The sun’s embrace upon their backs,
Sweat mingles with the morning dew,
In rhythm with the crowing cocks,
Their labor sings a song anew.

Seasons paint the landscape’s grace,
From emerald spring to autumn gold,
Through every storm and sunlit trace,
Their stories of toil and hope unfold.

With calloused hands and steadfast heart,
Farmers weave life’s fragile thread,
Their spirit, nature’s art,
In fields where dreams are daily fed.