Footprints on fertile mud

It is Avian choir
Accompanied with crickets
That ring and sing the loudness
Of farmers morning
The nothingness of fog
Brought uncertain squelch
On heel-deep mud to my boots
Careful not to disturb
Sleeping puddles of leeches
In my walk, time passed

The earth mud odors rise
Herons started days work
Fishing on Carabao backs
Ticks bloat of Carabao blood
Like pale berries succulent
Advent of another day
By the ray of golden sun
Glistening of golden seeds
Slowly is the fog undone
Busy farmers before me