Thomas Wylie: Inspired to write October 11, 2016 REMEMBERING SEAMUS HEANEY Gone now, And the plough is still rusting And spade handles wormholed, hay dust blowing, But trampled ground no more, For Ulster's greatest word man, Farm trails alone Along stain dykes, with wind and rain Awakening the spirit in him Dis patching his love of the sod, and Proclaiming effortless lines Of land weather and living. And his patriotic backbone, that Never crumbled, with the worst that The North could lay on us, Were we, Hanging on, till death to find Words, in his passing, Do we love him more now As we turn the pages of his story, I think we do.