In fields where golden sunlight spills,
Farmers toil with steadfast wills.
Their hands, the earth’s tender embrace,
Nurture seeds in their rightful place.

With morning dew upon their brow,
They guide the plow through furrowed vow.
Whispers of wind through endless rows,
Speak of stories only nature knows.

Under the vast and endless sky,
They watch the seasons quietly fly.
Each harvest is a song unsung,
A labor where the heart is young.

Through storms and droughts, they persevere,
With dreams of bounty year after year.
Their legacy, a timeless art,
Written in the soil, close to the heart.