In the quiet hush of winter’s embrace,
The poet’s voice fell to gentle sleep,
A world of words left without trace,
As shadows where memories silently weep.

The echoes of verses linger in the air,
Whispered dreams that never fade,
Through time’s unfurling, tender and rare,
In the hearts where his spirit is laid.

The winds carry his timeless song,
Across the fields and distant shores,
Where the soul of Yeats forever belongs,
In the dance of eternity, he soars.

O gentle bard, in twilight’s glow,
Your words remain a guiding light,
In the silence where true wisdom flows,
Your legacy blooms in endless night.