Poetic to the Point of Being Psychic?

I have a bit of an odd tale about one of Seamus (pronounced, Shame-us) Heaney's poems, which is the first poem in his book titled Human Chain. My friend in Ireland sent me this book as a gift in November of 2013 and it arrived on November 26th- within the same month that an Aunt of mine-my favorite Aunt, no less!- passed away and a little more than a year after my Mum's passing. 
On the 25th of November, just the day before, I had a weird experience. I had walked into my mother's room at the same time that I suddenly heard what sounded like a waterfall against one of her windows and immediately thought that I was hearing a sudden violent rainstorm but as I looked out the other window I could see that the late afternoon was still sunny and no rain had hit that window. It was dry and clear. 

The sound was deafening for only a moment- like that of wind and rain- and it continued but I suddenly felt the urge to go out and investigate. 
As I came out the side door to my house I saw leaves violently hitting the bricks against the house and then they suddenly quit. I looked around and there were no leaves any where else. I neared the window to get a closer look and found that one leaf had lodged itself into a space between two bricks. I couldn't reconcile the sound I heard with what I saw but I was left to think about this for only a day.
When the book arrived from my friend the next day and I saw that it was poetry I opened it immediately and read the first poem. The following is the poem, titled, 'Had I not been awake'.

Had I not been awake I would have missed it,

A wind that rose and whirled until the roof

Pattered with quick leaves off the sycamore

And got me up, the whole of me a-patter,

Alive and ticking like an electric fence:

Had I not been awake I would have missed it,

It came and went so unexpectedly

And almost it seemed dangerously,

Returning like an animal to the house,

A courier blast that there and then

Lapsed ordinary. But not ever

After. And not now.

I've always told people that some of my poems are prophetic because my poems written as a teenager were actually outside my scope of experience, at times, and then I would experience what I'd written later. This episode with Seamus' poetry really grabbed my attention and I urge one and all to take a look at his poetry. He passed away in a Dublin hospital in August of that year himself at the age of 74 and is seriously missed as an international poet who won the Nobel Prize for literature in 1995. Please give this man's poetry a look as we all need to listen to our prophets as much now as ever. 

Dihunamb,

The Castle Lady