The sun rises hot, it reaches the
Horizon in fiery reds, yellows and golds.

The farmers day has begun, the tractors move
Creating clouds of dust.

They roll endless hours. The sun beating down.
The thoughts of harvest far away, fall seems an

Sweat rolls from their brows, coating them with a film of grit.
They roll from dawn to dusk.

The heat that rolls up from the tractors, feels
Like it is coming straight from the pits of Hell.

And yet when harvest is nigh all the hard
Labor is well worth its time.

The farmer gets a winter of rest and the land
Has a time of rejuvenation. The time of renewal
Has begun.