Under the golden glow of twilight’s tender kiss,
Fields of grain sway, in nature’s gentle bliss.
The harvest moon rises, a beacon in the night,
Guiding us through the shadows, with its soft light.

Hands to the plow, hearts to the sky,
We gather the bounty, with a grateful sigh.
Each kernel, each fruit, a testament to care,
The labor of love, the answer to our prayer.

The scent of earth, so rich and profound,
Fills the air, as we work the ground.
A symphony of life, in every rustling leaf,
Echoes the cycle, of joy and brief grief.

As the night deepens and stars start to gleam,
We rest our weary bones, and softly dream.
Of seasons past, and those yet to come,
Blessed by the harvest, our hearts hum.