Lilies, oh lilies! Where do they go
Beyond the fields of golden dreams?
Iris, oh iris! From where have they come?
Beyond the fields of golden streams.
And what of love? The farmer by the hay,
Faithfully tending the morning’s sun.

He walks the rows where shadows play,
In silent whispers, earth and sky,
The wind, a gentle, knowing sigh,
As he sows the seeds, the day begun.

He kneels to touch the soil so deep,
His hands a map of seasons passed,
In every line, a story cast,
Of hope and toil, and dreams to keep.

The birds above, in flight, rejoice,
Their songs a hymn to labor’s grace,
The farmer smiles, a quiet trace,
Of peace within his steadfast voice.

And when the night begins to fall,
With stars to light his weary way,
He rests beneath the sky’s soft sway,
The fields, his heart, his all.

:: 08.30.2024 ::