In the quiet of the morning light,
Where shadows dance with gentle grace,
A poet’s voice takes flight,
Whispering through time and space.
Fields of memory softly call,
Echoes of words in tender rhyme,
Heaney’s verses rise and fall,
A bridge across the sands of time.
In the earth, his spirit lingers,
Touching hearts with woven lines,
His penâan artist’s fingersâ
Crafting worlds where beauty shines.
Though the man has left our sight,
His legacy in words remains,
Guiding us through day and night,
In the rhythm of life’s refrains.