In fields where whispers breathe the lore,
Heaney’s pen dances, rich and pure,
With spade and word, he tills the ground,
Unearthing truth where roots are found.
The peat’s embrace, a gentle hold,
Stories ancient, yet retold,
His verses echo nature’s song,
In quiet lines, where souls belong.
Digging deep, with every phrase,
He paints the world in earthen haze,
Each stanza blooms with life anew,
A tapestry of green and blue.
His legacy, a gentle stream,
Flowing softly through the dream,
In every word, the land is seen,
A poet’s heart, forever green.