In the gentle whisper of dawn’s embrace,Where golden fields meet the azure sky,The farmer stands, a guardian of grace,Tending to dreams where the earth lies high.The soil tells tales of seasons past,Of rain’s dance and sun’s tender kiss,In every furrow, hope is cast,A silent prayer for nature’s bliss.Beneath the weight of morning dew,His hands weave stories through the land,With every seed, a promise true,Of life nurtured by his gentle hand.As twilight drapes its velvet shroud,The fields hum with a symphony rare,A testament to the farmer proud,Whose labor shapes the harvest’s fare.