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 shadows cast by historyâs hand, Where echoes of turmoil softly land, Seamus Heaney’s pen does gently trace, The pain…
In the quiet of the early morn, When shadows dance and light is born, I think of you, your gentle…
In the silence where words once thrived, The echoes of your voice survive, Through fields of thought and verse profound,…
In the mist of dawn, he wrote of strife, Where shadows cast on a fractured life. His words, a mirror…
In fields of green, where shadows play, Her gentle voice would guide the way. Through whispers soft, in twilight’s glow,…