Where sun meets soil, the tale begins,
Of calloused hands and quiet wins.
The plow’s slow rhythm, the earth’s embrace,
A farmer’s hymn in time and space.

The corn grows tall, a golden sea,
Bowing to wind’s soft melody.
Each stalk a promise, each field a vow,
The fruit of sweat, the labor of now.

From dawn to dusk, the seasons turn,
The cycle of life, the lessons we learn.
The rain’s a gift, the earth a guide,
The harvest, a feast for the countryside.

And here they stand, amidst the rows,
Where roots run deep and courage shows.
Providing the bread, the sustenance born,
Living their lives amongst the fields of corn.

Kevin Schroeder