In shadows cast by historyâs hand,
Where echoes of turmoil softly land,
Seamus Heaney’s pen does gently trace,
The pain and hope of a troubled place.
Words like whispers, soft and clear,
Paint the anguish, the longing, the fear,
Of a land divided by beliefs and fight,
Yet yearning for peace in the quiet of night.
The Troubles’ scars on hearts and minds,
Heaneyâs lines in solace bind,
A testament to resolve and grace,
Amidst the strife, a poet’s embrace.
Through verses strong, a story told,
Of wounds that heal, of courage bold,
In Seamus Heaneyâs tender prose,
The Troubles’ tale, in peace, repose.