Wheat Field

In golden fields, the wheat does grow,

With gentle breeze, it begins to sow.
Beneath the sun, its stalks stand tall,
A bounty of life, for one and all.

Harvest time arrives, a bustling sight,

Hands gather the wheat, golden and bright.
In the fields, the workers toil and sweat,
To gather the grains, a labor they won't forget.

Bundles of wheat, like treasures untold,

Nature's gift, a harvest of gold.
Each grain packed with nourishing might,
A source of sustenance, a pure delight.

In barns and silos, the wheat finds its place,

Stored and protected, with utmost grace.
Awaiting its destiny, be it flour or bread,
A journey from field to table, it's said.

From packed wheat, new life will spring,

As flour turns into a doughy offering.
Bakers knead and shape, their artistry unfold,
Creating bread that warms, and stories untold.

So let us cherish the packed wheat's worth,

Its journey from seed to bountiful earth.
 A symbol of nature's cycle, ever complete,
In every grain, a promise to nourish and greet.