Beneath the azure, endless skies so grand,
Stretches the realm where nature takes its stand.
Whispers of the golden fields, so vast,
Speak of the stories, from the present to the past.

The farmer’s hands, calloused and strong,
Work with the earth, where they belong.
A symphony of life, in every seed sown,
A testament to how much we’ve grown.

The sun rises, casting its golden hue,
On crops that drink the morning dew.
Seasons change, but the cycle remains,
A dance of life, through joys and pains.

Through storms and droughts, the fields endure,
Nurtured by hands so steadfast and pure.
In every furrow, in every grain,
The heart of agriculture beats again.