In fields where whispers once took flight,
The echoes of the past reside.
Seamus, with a pen like gentle might,
Painted truths that never hide.

Amidst the turmoil, voices rise,
In verses carved from history’s stone,
Heaney saw with poet’s eyes,
The strife, the hope, the seeds he’d sown.

The Troubles lingered in each line,
Yet in the darkness, light he sought.
Through words, a bridge he did design,
Uniting hearts, with peace he taught.

In every stanza, every rhyme,
A world of stories softly spun.
Heaney’s legacy, through troubled time,
Reminds us all of battles won.