In fields where whispers of history lay,
The soil remembers every tear and sigh,
Seamus, with words like gentle clay,
Molded stories where echoes of past fly.

Through the haze of a troubled land,
His pen carved peace in lines profound,
In every verse, a steady hand,
In shadows deep, his light was found.

Amidst the discord of bitter night,
He painted hope with strokes of grace,
In the heart of conflict, a beacon bright,
His poetry a tender embrace.

With every stanza, he called for peace,
In troubled times, his voice a guide,
Through woven words, the pain would cease,
A poet’s art, where hope resides.