In the quiet breath of dawn’s first light,
Yeats slipped away, a whisper in the night.
His words linger, like echoes of the past,
A timeless song, in verses unsurpassed.

The world felt colder, a shadow cast,
Yet in his lines, the warmth would last.
A gentle soul, with dreams unfurled,
He left his mark upon the world.

Through fields of thought, his spirit roams,
In every rhyme, he finds new homes.
Though silence claimed his earthly voice,
In every reader’s heart, he finds rejoice.

Now as we gather, to honor his grace,
His legacy lives, time cannot erase.
In the gentle passing of Yeats’ day,
His spirit lives on, in the words we say.