In the twilight where shadows dance,
Yeats’ spirit takes its final chance.
Whispers of verses float on the breeze,
Echoes of dreams, time’s gentle tease.

Under the moon’s tender, silvery glow,
His words, like rivers, continue to flow.
Through the realms of thought, they wander free,
A timeless melody in eternity.

Amidst the stars, his soul finds rest,
In the vast cosmos, he is a guest.
The poet’s heart, forever still,
Yet in each line, his presence we feel.

Though the world has turned another page,
His essence lingers, quiet and sage.
In the silence, his voice we hear,
A symphony of whispers, forever near.