Crops stretching across,
The vast plains and countryside 
For miles after miles,
Are the golden fields of gold.

Bees buzzing amongst,
The yellow flowers,
Collecting the nectar as they go
Pollinating the oilseed rape 
On the wing all over the countryside.

Ears of golden wheat,
Moving gently in the soft breeze
Waiting to be harvested,
To be ground into soft flour
Ready to be made into fresh bread.

Barley ears with their little hairs,
Being knocked and flatten by the rain
Waiting to be harvested in heat of the sun,
To gathered in to be sent to the brewery
To brewed, fermented and to be
Turned in to cold and refreshing beer.

Fields of golden oats,
Swaying in the wind
Waiting to be harvested,
Oats being rolled
Being turned in porridge.