In the dawn’s gentle embrace, the fields awaken,
Bathed in golden hues, silently they beckon,
A farmer’s heart beats in rhythm with the land,
Tending dreams with a weathered, calloused hand.

The sun climbs high, a sentinel in the sky,
Guiding plows that dance on soil so dry,
Rows of green unfurl like hopeful lines,
Promises of harvest in their leafy signs.

Evening settles with a hushed, tender sigh,
Stars emerge, stitching patterns in the sky,
Amidst the crops, a gentle breeze does weave,
Stories of toil and care that never leave.

Seasons turn, yet the cycle remains true,
In every seed, a farmer’s dream anew,
Silent whispers of the earth, heard by few,
A timeless bond, between the land and you.