In fields where golden whispers grow,
The morning sun begins to show,
A farmerâs hand, steady and true,
Guides the earth to life anew.
With every seed that meets the ground,
A silent promise, profound,
Of life and labor intertwined,
By nature’s clock, the day aligned.
The gentle rain, a soft embrace,
Nourishing every green trace,
As roots delve deep, reaching wide,
The land becomes life’s gentle guide.
Under the watchful, silver moon,
Fields whisper secrets, soft and soon,
A harvest waits, a bountiful art,
Crafted by hand, and heart to heart.