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In green fields, where daisies bloom, Beneath the vast and arching sky, There dwells a folk, with laughter's plume, Whose lives in simple toil imply. Calloused hands, sun-kissed, tanned, and worn, They tend the earth from early morn. Their clothes are plain, their boots unshined, et in their hearts, a warmth divine. They draw from soil, from seed, from rain, A bounty that the city folk Might never understand or know, The wealth that grows beneath the plow. By honest toil and simple joys, They live, they love, they laugh, they thrive. The soft hum of the land's own voice, In their daily rounds, they find their prize. The endless sky, a canvas blue, Witnesses their dawn to dusk parade. In rhythm with the turning earth, They celebrate each season's birth. Sunflowers stretch to kiss the sun, While wildflowers twine where streams do run. They know each tree, each leaf, each bough, As if deciphering life's own vow. The robin's song, the thrush's trill, Compose the symphony they cherish. No note is lost, no melody still, In their world, where nature's voice does flourish. From dawn to dusk, their stories weave, Of seasons past and memories retrieved. Though hard their work, their spirits free, In every moment, joy's their decree. Some scorn their ways, their lives so plain, "Bumkins," they jeer, in mocking strain. Yet in their hearts, a strength does burn, A love for life, in every turn. They dance with breeze, they sway with tree, In harmony with all they see. Under harvest moons, in golden light, They reap their treasures, pure and bright. So let us toast to these fine souls, These tillers of the earth, these keepers of the whole. In their contentment, we find a clue, To live with nature, and ourselves be true. In green fields, where daisies charm, Their laughter's music, their presence balm. In simple pleasures, their legacy, A tapestry woven, in life's gentle spree. For in their ways, a lesson's scribed, To cherish nature, in open skies. In every bloom, in every bud, A testament to the life they've loved.
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