In January's chill, the earth lies still,
Under a blanket of frost, it dreams until,
The hands of farmers, strong and true,
Awaken the land with work to do.

The soil, like a canvas, cold and stark,
Awaits the plow's first decisive mark,
As furrows form, neat rows in line,
A promise of harvest in due time.

Seeds are sown with hopes held high,
In the depth of winter,...