Harvest's Symphony

The Farmer, etched with furrows deep as sown seeds,

Stood bathed in an emerald glow, a harvest's joyous deeds.

Green dust, like pollen blessings, kissed his weathered face,

A testament to labor, a fertile land's embrace.

Laughter, like spring rain, poured from his sun-kissed lips,

A melody that danced with wind through swaying, verdant tips.

Each stalk, a standing soldier, held its head up high,

Golden bounty bursting forth, beneath a canvassed sky.

Holi's vibrant spirit, a symphony in hues,

Mirrored in the verdant fields, where dreams take root and muse.

Canopies of emerald leaves, whispered secrets old,

Of battles fought with nature, stories yet untold.

His calloused hands, cradling plump and perfect grains,

Spoke of battles won, of weathered sun and rains.

Each wrinkle, a testament to trials overcome,

A map of perseverance, where hope forever hums.

The verdant tide stretched onward, a boundless verdant sea,

A promise whispered softly, on the fragrant breeze, you see.

For from this fertile cradle, life forever springs,

A verdant celebration, the joy that harvest brings.

Children, like flitting butterflies, danced in fields of green,

Their laughter echoing brightly, a joyous, festive scene.

With colors bright and playful, they painted faces bold,

A kaleidoscope of spirits, a story yet to unfold.

The farmer watched them revel, in the vibrant Holi tide,

A reflection of his laughter, in their youthful stride.

He saw in them the future, the promise of the land,

Stewards of this bounty, a legacy at hand.

The land, a sleeping giant, now stirred with life anew,

Awakened by the farmer's touch, the dreams that bloomed so true.

Green, the color of abundance, of fertility's embrace,

A canvas painted brightly, a future filled with grace.

So raise a cup to harvest, to laughter's joyous sound,

To the farmer and the children, on fertile Indian ground.

For in the heart of green, a vibrant hope takes root,

A promise whispered softly, bearing life's abundant fruit.