Amidst the Irish hills, his spirit wanders,Where words once danced in twilight’s gentle glow,The echoes of his voice, like tender…
In the soft whisper of the morning light, Her words still dance upon the breeze, A gentle touch within the…
In the quiet of the morning, your laughter still rings, A melody of joy that the dawn always brings. Your…
The words you wove, now silent, still, Amidst the fields and rolling hills, Your pen, a plough, turned soil to…
In the quiet of the morning, where shadows softly fall, Her words still linger, a whisper in the hall. Mary…
The world grew silent, as the pen dropped still, When Seamus Heaney took his final breath, His words like whispers,…
In the garden where the wild things grow, Whispered secrets in the wind do blow. Maryâs voice, a gentle, guiding…