Harvest Poem by ashok jadhav

The fields bow low beneath the amber sky,
Their quiet wealth in every bending ear;
Long days of toil and nights of watchful sigh
Find answer now as ripened grains appear.
The sun recalls each seed in darkness laid,
Each hope entrusted to the waiting ground;
From faith and sweat this golden truth is made,
That loss once buried may be later found.
Yet harvest counts more than the yield we see—
It weighs the hands made patient by the years,
The hearts that learned through want what enough be,
And gathered strength from storms as well as tears.
So life, like fields, repays in measured part
What we have sown in labor and in heart.