In fields of emerald green they lie,
The whispers of the past, a gentle sigh.
Heaney’s words, like rivers flow,
Through time and space, they softly glow.

The earth, his canvas, vast and wide,
Where stories dwell and dreams abide.
With pen in hand, he paints the scene,
A tapestry of life, serene.

The digging spade, the bellowing forge,
In simple tools, the tales emerge.
Heaney’s craft, both bold and true,
A bridge between the old and new.

So let us wander, line by line,
Through Heaney’s world, where words entwine.
A legacy of verse, profound and free,
An ode to life, in poetry.