In fields where golden grains do sway,
Beneath the sun’s warm, gentle ray.
The farmer toils both night and day,
To nurture life in earthy clay.

The rains descend, a life-sustaining kiss,
Bringing forth a green, abundant bliss.
Each droplet sings an ancient song,
That binds the earth to sky along.

As autumn’s breath begins to chill,
Harvest time on rolling hill.
With calloused hands, they reap the yield,
A testament to strength revealed.

Through winter’s frost and silent night,
They dream of spring’s returning light.
For in the soil, the seeds do lie,
Awaiting warmth to reach the sky.