In fields where whispers softly bud,
Heaneyâs pen danced with the earth,
Each line a furrow, deep and true,
Unearthing tales of timeless worth.
The gentle murmur of the land,
Echoed through his crafted verse,
Binding soil to soul with grace,
Words like seeds in universe.
Shadows of the past entwined,
In every stanza, every rhyme,
Memories stitched in golden thread,
Across the gentle arc of time.
His legacy, a quiet song,
Of earth and man, of life and lore,
A testament to simple truths,
Forever whispered on the moor.