In the gentle cradle of dawnâs first light,
Fields awaken in a golden sea,
Whispers of winds weave through silent rows,
Nature’s orchestra begins its ancient symphony.
The plowman’s hand, a guiding force,
Turns earth with tender, knowing grace,
Seeds of promise sown with hope,
Dreams take root in fertile embrace.
Under the sun’s watchful gaze,
Green tendrils reach for sky and stars,
Life unfolds in quiet resolve,
Each day a chapter in natureâs memoir.
Harvest time, a celebration,
Bounty gathered with grateful hands,
Fields rest beneath a moonlit cloak,
Awaiting the next dawnâs gentle command.