In fields of green, where shadows play, Heaneyâs words paint a troubled day. Echoes of past, in verses clear, Whispering…
In the shadow of history’s weight, Heaney’s pen bled ink and truth, Through fields of green and sorrow’s gate, He…
In shadows cast by historyâs hand, Where echoes of turmoil softly land, Seamus Heaney’s pen does gently trace, The pain…