Wisdom, Power and Goodness meet
In the bounteous field of wheat.

And the ripe harvest of the new-mown hay
Gives it a sweet and wholesome odour.

Our farmers round, well pleased with constant gain,
Like other farmers, flourish and complain.

It fetches crops from the rich earth,
It's a good beast biting the ground.
It must have its knife and its board
And its food right under its thigh.
It goes unwillingly through stones,
It skins the field with leg outstretched.

It has done me good,” said the fox, “because of the color of the wheat fields.

Take rest; a field that has rested gives a beautiful crop.

Give," said the little stream, "Give, oh give, give, oh give,
As it hurried down the hill.
"I am small, I know, but wherever I go The fields grow greener still.

In the end, the world returns to a grain.

Grain grows best in shit...

The planted seed consigned to common earth,
Disdains to moulder with the baser clay;
But rises up to meet the light of day,
Spreads all its leaves, and flowers, and tendrils forth;
And, bathed and ripened in the genial ray,
Pours out its perfume on the wandering gales,
Till in that fragrant breath its life exhales.

The thankful receiver bears a plentiful harvest.

It is not because the touch of genius has roused genius to production, but because the admiration of genius has made talent ambitious, that the harvest is still so abundant.

In this broad earth of ours,
Amid the measureless grossness and the slag,
Enclosed and safe within its central heart,
Nestles the seed perfection.

The farmer has patience and trusts the process. He just has the faith and deep understanding that through his daily efforts, the harvest will come.And then one day, almost out of nowhere, it does.