The Farmer's Happy Field

In Farmer Giles's happy field, Where sunshine smiles and breezes yield, A canvas green, a vibrant sight, A field of crops, both day and night.

Old Giles, the farmer, strong and kind, With weathered hands and heart aligned, Begins the tale, the season's call, He plows the field, for one and all.

Then tiny seeds, like sleeping dreams, Are nestled deep in earthy seams. The gentle rain, a silver tear, Awakens life, dispelling fear.

The sunbeams dance, a golden hue, As sprouts emerge, a verdant crew. The friendly cow, with moo so low, Watches the cornstalks start to grow.

The busy bees, with buzzing wings, Kiss blossoms sweet, what nectar brings. The playful sheep, in fluffy white, Nibble the clover, with pure delight.

The golden wheat, in summer's prime, Waves gently in the breezy rhyme. Pumpkins plump, a cheerful round, Rest softly on the fertile ground.

But harvest time, the grandest show, When Farmer Giles begins to mow. The animals cheer, with happy sound, As food abounds, on fertile ground.

From field to table, bounty's grace, A feast for all, in time and space. So sleep the crops, till spring's return, In Farmer Giles's happy field, they learn.