In the quiet dawn of September’s air,
The world mourned a voice beyond compare.
Words that danced on the edge of time,
Now echo softly in rhythm and rhyme.

From fields of Ireland to ancient lore,
He unearthed stories untold before.
With pen in hand, he sowed the seeds,
Of history’s whispers and human needs.

Beneath the earth where secrets lie,
He found the truths that never die.
In his verses, hearts find their way,
Through shadows and light, night and day.

Though he rests, his spirit remains,
In every word, in gentle refrains.
A poet’s legacy, vast and deep,
In our souls, his memory we keep.