In fields where the wild grasses grow, The words of Heaney softly flow. His pen, a plough that tills the…
Under the emerald canopy, where whispers of folklore roam, Lives the spirit of Ireland, in every heart and home. With…
In fields where shadows whisper tales, The echoes of a poet’s voice prevail, Seamus Heaney’s ink, so deep, so frail,…
In the land where the shamrocks grow, Beneath the emerald skies so clear, There blooms a love, pure and slow,…
In the emerald fields where legends sleep, Beneath the skies where echoes weep, Lies a tale of silent grace, A…