Beneath the burning sun, they rise, Fields unfurling under eager hands, Like vast canvases of earth, Replete with the joy of creation.

For time is the harbinger of our dreams, Every blade of grass an existence, Each drop of sweat, a celebration, In the lush theatre of life and machines.

O, symphony of industry!
Conducting the playful rustle of leaves, Let us harness the wild strength, And propel ourselves beyond the horizon.

• FT Marinetti