In the quiet of the Irish dawn,
Where verdant fields meet sky and sea,
A poet’s voice once softly sang,
Of life, of death, of memory.

His words, like whispers on the breeze,
Spoke truths that hearts could understand,
From humble roots to global stage,
An eloquence both fierce and grand.

Seamus, now your quill lies still,
But echoes of your verse remain,
In every line, in every rhyme,
Your spirit dances through the pain.

And as we mourn your gentle soul,
We celebrate the gift you gave,
A legacy of written gold,
That time nor silence can enslave.