In the quiet fields where whispers roam,
Beneath the ancient oak’s solemn shade,
The echoes of a poet find their home,
In verses woven, his spirit laid.

The earth remembers every tender line,
As ink traces paths through time’s embrace,
His words, like roots, in hearts entwine,
A legacy of grace, a timeless place.

The gentle rain upon the emerald isle,
Carries the stories he once told,
Each drop a memory, a fleeting smile,
A bard’s wisdom, in nature’s fold.

Though silence now holds his gentle voice,
The world still listens, with bated breath,
In every stanza, we rejoice,
Celebrating life, in the shadow of death.