In the quiet fields where shadows play, Her gentle voice would softly say, The stories woven through the air, A…
In the quiet of the morning light, Where shadows dance with gentle grace, A poet’s voice takes flight, Whispering through…
In the golden fields of memory, she stands, Her hands, weathered, yet tender, weave dreams, Each line, a story, each…
The earth, turned by spade and pen, Whispered tales of ancient men, In fields of green where memories stay, Heaney’s…
In fields where shadows whisper low, The troubles churn, a bitter flow. Seamus weaves his words with care, A poet’s…
In the quiet of the Irish dawn, Where verdant fields meet sky and sea, A poet’s voice once softly sang,…
In the shadow of the rolling hills, Where whispers of the past reside, Heaney’s words weave tales of strife, Of…
In the golden fields where memories bloom, A mother’s touch, a gentle loom. Weaving love in threads so fine, Her…
Amidst the fields of moss and stone, Where ancient whispers weave and moan, A voice emerged, both strong and clear,…
In the mist of dawn, he wrote of strife, Where shadows cast on a fractured life. His words, a mirror…