Beneath the wide embrace of sky,
Where whispers of the wind do lie,
The farmer treads with patient grace,
Tending earth’s sacred, gentle space.

In springtime’s bloom, with seeds in hand,
He dreams of harvests, vast and grand.
The soil, a canvas rich and dark,
Awaits the touch of nature’s spark.

Summer’s sun with golden rays,
Guides his toil through endless days.
The crops rise tall, a sea of green,
A testament to hope unseen.

As autumn whispers through the fields,
The land reveals its precious yields.
With gratitude, he gathers all,
Answering the harvest’s call.