Beneath the azure sky so vast and wide,
The golden fields in silence dream and sway,
The farmer’s hands, with love and toil, abide,
To tend the earth at the break of day.

Each furrowed line, a story deeply sown,
Of seasons past and futures yet untold,
The seeds of hope, in fertile grounds are thrown,
To flourish bright, as days and nights unfold.

The whispering winds, they sing a gentle tune,
Of nature’s gifts and life’s unending grace,
The crops will dance beneath the silver moon,
Reflecting stars upon their leafy face.

And when the harvest moon begins to rise,
The fields embrace the farmer’s tender hand,
A bond eternal, seen through thankful eyes,
The heart of farming, strong and proud will stand.