In fields where shadows whisper low,
The troubles churn, a bitter flow.
Seamus weaves his words with care,
A poet’s heart laid bare.

The land cries out with ancient woes,
Amidst the green, where conflict grows.
Heaney’s pen, a sword of light,
Pierces through the darkest night.

With every verse, a tale unfolds,
Of broken dreams and stories told.
His voice, a beacon in the storm,
Keeps the weary spirit warm.

So let us heed the poet’s call,
To mend the rift, to stand tall.
For in his lines, we find the key,
To peace, to hope, to unity.