As a baby they were cute,And as a toddler, really beaut,How proud you were at their first day at school,But then they started growing, And acting without knowing,Just started to become a touch less cool. This poem by Carl Sandburg details the different lives one can hold as represented by seasons. You may have thought I didnt see,Or that I hadnt heard,Life lessons that you taught to me,But I got every word. You ran with grace and strength all game,Your footwork swift and sure,Scored goals with ease and utmost grace,Brought joy to all who saw. But here is your race medalFrom me with all my heartYoull wear my gold at every stepAnd we will never be apart. The earth was made so sweet,The sky so fair,For man to cultivateAnd love and wear.But we, alas! How lucky I was,How blessed Ive been,You were more than my Aunt,You were also my friend. Just talk amongst yourself my friends,And share a toast or two.For I am sure you will remember wellHow I loved to drink with you. Nature would speak to usOur world would become onewith peace and understandingand a little bit of fun. Alone on my tin pony,to the heavens Ive been called,but fret not my dear loved ones,Im not lonely here at all. One more day to hold your handand to watch you live your life as you planned. Aunts have no wands or wings,So they work with wisdom, love, and things.Having taken on this role,You loved me right down to my soul. But now my shift is overIve done my very bestLast orders; its time for closureAnd time for me to rest. Your labor is done, your home now is heaven; no more must you wait,Your legacy lives on, your love of the land, and we will close the gate. And although this pain is painful,And I really dont wanna let you go.Ill wait for death to take me Nan,So we can together one day glow. Cosmopolitan House, Old Fore Street, Sidmouth, Devon, EX10 8LS, Contact : customerservices@thefuneralpoem.com. A limb has fallen from the family tree.I keep hearing a voice that says,Grieve not for me.Remember the best times,the laughter, the song.The good life I livedwhile I was strong.Continue my heritage,Im counting on you.Keep smiling and surelythe sun will shine through.My mind is at ease,my soul is at rest.Remembering all,how I truly was blessed.Continue traditions,no matter how small.Go on with your life,dont worry about falls.I miss you all dearly,so keep up your chin.Until the day comeswere together again.. As eighteen flags flew at half mast, andGlasses were soberly raised highThe latest member was having a ballAt the golf course in the sky, Freed from the gravity of the situationThe first tee shot soared through spaceBringing a wondrous, beaming smileTo a kind, down to earth face, Surrounded by old club friendsOnce thought never to be seen againThe infinity course beckoned aheadEighteen holes were for mere mortal men. The lazy float that controls the boatAnd makes the swing quite true,And gives that rest that the oarsman blestAs he drives the blade right through. Repshire: FW Harvey, Cricket, and Nostalgia. You know you are foreverbut its easy when were hereJust a hand away from holdingand a hug away from fearSo you have to make a promisethat your hope will never runAnd you know Ill always ride hereeven when my ridings done. How did you do it all, Mum,Be a chauffeur, cook and friend,Yet find time to be a playmate?I just cant comprehend. Love Is Like A Game Of Cards Titia Geertman A verse comparing card games to love and life. Funeral Poems; Memorial Poems, sayings, quotes, and verses; Celebration of Life Poems; Remembrance Poems The Comfort and Sweetness of Peace After the clouds, the sunshine, after the winter, the spring, after the shower, the rainbow, for life is a changeable thing. I am a juggler, and I juggle as I go,Flung from hand to hand, these balls of life and woe;I catch them as they fall and fling them to the sky,And catch them as they come back down, and so I juggle by. A hobby, a pastime, a talent, a pleasureSome things to be worn and others to treasureHer needles now silent, not a sound they will makeBut a lesson she taught us, to give more than you take. A Legacy of Stitches is what we leave behind;the imprint of our very soul that lasts beyond our time.The heart that quilts knows, oh, so well the peace that can be found,as needle meets with fabric, for there is no sweeter sound.Whether quiet piecing done by hand or on our sewing machine,theres rhythm to our stitches as we sew along each seam.Those stitches tell the story of our lives as they unfoldas we think of quilts that Grandma made with stories left untold.The humdrum of our daily lives grows elegant and grand,when we start to cut the pieces, then stitch the fabric in our hands.And whatever is the reason for the quilts we piece and sew,and whoever is the maker, there is one thing that we know.Each quilt is full of memories and is a treasured thing.If quilts could talk, imagine how some quilts would surely sing!For some quilts are sewn in happy times and others when were sad,and some are sewn in laughter and others when were mad.Some are sewn to warm us, and some sewn just for fun,and some are works in progress that never quite get done!Some quilts are sewn for beauty, a quilt made just for show,but the heart of the true quilter is the one who really knows That no matter how the quilt is stitched, we leave our mark in time.This Legacy of Stitches is what we leave behind. But you think I am goneYou dont see me, but I can see youWhatever the problems, I will help you get through. Although I didnt understandI still told everyoneWith a love thats undeniedId say That is my son. extract from As You Like It by William Shakespeare. Farewell to Middle-earth at last.I see the Star above my mast! Eyes the shady night has shutCannot see the record cut,And silence sounds no worse than cheersAfter earth has stopped the ears. and whatever a sun will always sing is you. I chose a twinkling star in the sky at night ,To say a prayer for you to its bright light.Youre in Gods Heavens now and no longer in pain,In my thoughts, youll always remain. Its any time that youve been proudof others or yourself.Its every song you turned up loud,and every friend you helped. The pain of losing you is as intense as our love for you. Clean your rims, my friend! They have outlivedtheir usefulness and cannot get warm and full.You talk to the clothes and explain that he is not coming back. The band upstairs is striking upFor me they now awaitTo play again I now can doAs I pass through heavens gate. Children that I leave behind,And their children, all were kind;Near to them and to my wife,I was happy all my life. Old Father Time, I pray to youThat clouds give it a rest,And that I get a game today,And that I play my best. In our hearts there is a placeThat only you can hold;Filled with loving memoriesMore precious than gold. Whats with this ballThat they could kick so high?It meant the worldTo you and them, so why? Without any doubt or fearmy favourite drink is surely beer,anything from pale, to brown alein fact any beer thats on sale,never halves, only pints or largerstout, bitter, smooth or golden lager,wonderful taste of malt and hopsproduced from ripe natural crops,must be drunk cold never warmdrinking good beer will do no harm,beer surely doesnt cause a beer bellydrink too much makes you very silly,you can keep your spirits and winea good pint of beer to me is just fine,beer is drunk north, south, east and westevery country thinks their beers the best. Youve got to know when to hold emKnow when to fold emKnow when to walk awayAnd know when to runYou never count your moneyWhen youre sittin at the tableTherell be time enough for countinWhen the dealins done. He loved to pop out for a walk or a stroll,But illness and age in the end took its tollHis passing will leave in our lives a great hole,Hell be missed as a wonderfully generous soul. Sorry didnt read OP properly! Well see your smile in every rayOf sunshine after rainAnd hear the of echo of your laughterOver all the pain. So, if this is the last timeWe speak, then may I say,Life with you was good, my friend,And Ill see you on the 19th one day. My heart often pounding; Im going to burstCome on legs, keep going!I want to come first. Badge Of A Yorkshireman anon A poem emphasising the qualities demonstrated by a true Yorkshireman. Damn, what a show, we cry:The boys stamp, and the girlsShriek, and the drum boomsAnd all come down, and he bows and says good-bye. The fences have all been mended. Tiny Angel shook his head,These things I do not knowBut I do know that you love me,And that I love you so., This was a life that had hardly begunNo time to find your place in the SunNo time to do all you could have doneBut we loved you enough for a lifetimeNo time to enjoy the world and its wealthNo time to take life down off the shelfNo time to sing the songs of yourselfThough you had enough love for a lifetime. When I do finally reach that triple pirouetteand all is done and all is setI put myself back into classAiming for a fourth, to be better than the last. Poems for watchmakers, clock collectors, or anyone who had a passion for timekeeping. Dont curse me, for I have done you no wrong.I only want the acceptance I have needed for so long. Always Been A Reader Mark Gregory A poem about the qualities of books and how they will endure after death.The Last Book Mark Gregory A poem about the miracle of life and being a part of it, even just for a while.The Library Mark Gregory A lovely poem about the magic of libraries, perfect for someone who worked in them.Roads Go Ever On J. R. R. Tolkien The classic from Tolkiens Lord of the Rings, perfect for a book-lover.Sitting In An Armchair Mark Gregory A book about a female reader in a chair being transported off to another land.There Is No Frigate Like A Book Emily Dickinson A short poem about how books carry us away to lands unknown. I am a martial artist. Remember me when I am gone away,Gone far away into the silent land;When you can no more hold me by the hand,Nor I half turn to go yet turning stay.Remember me when no more day by dayYou tell me of . When a butterfly come to you, Ive been told,That its from someone in heaven, a past soul.If you keep a look out, if you open your heart,The things that were ordinary will now stand apart.I think if we look, read between the lines,You will find clues and you will find signs,That your loved one isnt past, not really, not gone,That they are not here, that they have just moved on.It is said that there is not death, just life and transitions,From the teachings of Buddha to the beliefs of the Christians.So from my heart, from my hope and belief,May you find many butterflies to assist with your grief. Ive seen them win, lose and draw, rush by in charging blur, Neck and neck, nose to nose, to the photo we refer, The weight is right, the track is fair, the sun will always shine, As once more past the Judges, and I cross that Finish Line. Im climbing a mountainI stop just to gaze at the view,So clear the horizonLike my every dream has come true. Of all the friendsIve ever met,Youre the oneI wont forget. When your own words fail you, a poem can serve as a perfect funeral reading or eulogy. Scatter my ashes at Pemaquid Point*,Let the wind sail them home to the sea.Cradle of life, be my cradle in death,And set my spirit free. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at anytime. I Will Dance With You Again Mike Miller A beautiful poem spoken in the knowledge of seeing our loved ones again.The Tea Dance Beryl Edmonds A poem about the struggles of moving on after losing your dance partner.They Who Dance Marjorie Allen Seiffert A poem about admiration for those whose bodies sing triumphantly. I am the wind in your hair, the sand in your toesButterfly kisses that you feel on your noseI am with you at sunrise and in the sunsetBut you cannot see me, its my one regret. They move through threatening ghostsFeeling them cool as mistOn their brows. The race begins,as engines roar.They charge ahead,like a wild boar. You attract like a magnet beautiful things.You sparkle and shine like a diamond ring. The Candle anon A simple poem equating a candle to a guiding light that will help us reunite with our loved ones. It broke our hearts to lose you,You did not go alone,For part of us went with you,the day God called you home. Do not standatmy grave and weep,I am not there, I do not sleep.I amathousand winds that blow;I am the diamond glintson thesnow.I am the sunlight on ripened grain;I am the gentleautumnsrain.Whenyouawaken in themornings hush,I am the swiftupliftingrushOf quiet birds incircledflight.I am thesoft star that shines atnight.Do not standatmy grave and cry.I am not there; I did not die. Its fun and its laughterIts planning and strategyBut most of all, its you and me.We laugh, we cheer, we argue a few,but this is a memory made anew. Also the late, great Peter Tinniswood wrote a fantastic pair of books called "tales from the long room" and "more tales from the long room". F amily man, first and foremost. by Gabrielle Tintitranslation by David Graham. With every stroke, I feel so freeAs I glide across the wavesThe world and its worries, I can seeDrifting away in a haze. We dreamed of you and of your lifeAnd all that it would be.We waited and longed for you to come.And join our family. I get to know them, one and all;Some come in every night!All shapes and sizes, big and small:I make sure theyre alright. Her apron could bring gigglesIn a game of peek-a-booWith her newest, sweet grandbabyAs she hid her face from view. For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all;The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks:The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks. But I was patient and not het upEyes looking down, ears pricked like a pupId calmly wait to hear the callThe call that says this is the ball. Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of Chatham. Hell, no!, Apparently this a a Facebook Page called Why I love cricket, Starboard 10, Round again, pull in the buoys. adapted from the original by Rudyard Kipling. Written with a pen.Sealed with a kiss.If you are my friend,please answer this: Are we friendsOr are we not?You told me onceBut I forgot. Made from the earth by loving handsThrough heat and rain prepared,To face the joys and storms of lifeAnd treasured moments shared. I love to learn about them, and share all that I find,With others who love their fossils just as much as I love mine,They know that fossils are far more than simply rocks and debris,They are a vital window into our worlds history. Save The Scottish Regiments by joining them, The Fleet Air Arm and the War in Europe - 1939-1945 by David Hobbs, A basic guide to model making by Smeggers, Modelling Forum - Military & non military models, Guidance for the public on the mental health and wellbeing aspects of COVID-19, Memorable stuff from your formative years. I laugh and sing and jest to all, but never let them know,How hard I am at work, and just how fast the moments go,I catch them as they fall and fling them to the sky,And catch them as they come back down, and so I juggle by. Fly Like A Bird Javon Evans A poem detailing how wonderful and freeing it would be to fly.In Memoriam Victoria Bruce A poem encouraging mourners to think of the deceased in natures finer details.No Fear Of Flying anon A message from the deceased that they are no afraid to fly or to die. But a bird that stalksdown his narrow cagecan seldom see throughhis bars of ragehis wings are clipped andhis feet are tiedso he opens his throat to sing. Animal Lover Mark Gregory A poem ideal for someone who had a deep love for animals.Fly Robert Longley An inspiration poem about setting your soul free without fear.If (Pigeon-Fancier Version) original by Rudyard Kipling An adaptation of Kiplings original, but for a pigeon-fancier. Or when Sol dips his crestNeath the glorious westAnd the sunlight congeals into darkWe will skim by the seaWe will shoot oer the leaWe will follow the meteors mark. Poems for those who suffered from terminal illness in their final years. see also: The Countryside, Flowers, and Gardening. Ive finished lifes chores assigned to me,So put me on a boat headed out to sea.Please send along my fishing poleFor Ive been invited to the fishin hole. Because I have loved life, I shall have no sorrow to die. There is a momentIn musical rehearsalWhen all the playersThe choirThe woodwind and brassThe strings and percussionThe entire orchestraStopsAnd there is peace, The conductor says two wordsAnd restVoices cease to singThe woodwind put down oboes and clarinetsThe brass lay down trumpets and trombonesOthers do the sameBecause the music is overThere is no audienceThere is no applauseIn that momentQuietness reignsYet the quiet that followsRemains harmonious, There is a certain silenceA spaceFor reflection and reposeThe music is rememberedAnd so we contemplateThe highsThe lowsThe passage of melodySometimes we feel sadBecause the chordsHave drifted awayFinishedCompleted, Some will feel lossOthers experience reliefAnd others deep sadness, TogetherWe shareThat moment of closureWhen the conductorSaysAnd rest., The musical notes stood in linesDiscordant in their griefBefore regaining their composureAs black tears in embossed relief. Its always opening time in heavenAnd the alcohol doesnt go to your headIt floats around in ones etherAnd fortifies your spirit instead. Hello there, Granddad.Its me, your little man,I couldnt find you yesterday,When I came to visit Nan. Poems for those who enjoyed flag collecting or were simply masters of vexillology. For they existed. The place was very quiet,But not too quiet. That is all.She is just as large in mast and hull and spar as she was when she left my side, and she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.Her diminished size is in me, not in her.And just at the moment when someone at my side says, There, she is gone! there are other eyes watching her coming, and there are other voices ready to take up the glad shout, Here she comes!And that is dying. And we must play on. Poems about trains, perfect for those who loved everything locomotive. If I were there, Id tell you I have no more pain or strife,That I loved my friends and family, and I had a wonderful life.If I were there, Id tell you how I loved the small blue highways,I loved the curving mountain roads, and I loved to ride the back-road byways. I stand Oh Lord With hand on heartAnd ask you now to do your partIve sent my wood from centre lineI know the green I choose is fineNow let your word be trueOh hear me, as I prayScatter thou mine enemiesMake a path where there is no wayGuiding on a righteous track,Place it Lord upon the JackAmen. But a heaven is easier made of nothing at allThan the earth regained, and still and sole withinThe spin of worlds, with a gesture sure and nobleHe reels that heaven in,Landing it ball by ball,And trades it all for a broom, a plate, a table. O my goodness, whatever do I seeIs that a man coming over to meI feel a blush come from neck to my faceAnd my poor heart is beginning to race. It broke our hearts to lose you,But you didnt go alone,For part of us went with youThe day God called you home. Then at the very endWhen they were on their kneesYou still walked tallAnd like your matesYou claimed to take it allThe penalty and the strike,your wayThe win that set your heart aflameThe game, the pitch, the offside ruleThe love that took your heartYour final match at home your ball. Search the forum using the power of Google, Lost my Dad recently and my son is hoping to do a reading at the memorial service at church. Only for those of a special breed,Living a dream, a chance to succeed,Yesterdays hopes and desires coming true,Making your mark with records anew,Proving hard work and the daily grind,Instructing the body, conditioning the mindCan capture a medal for the whole world to see, withGlamour and Pride for your country.As you stand aloft and your flag is flown high, theresMemories forever, and a tear in your eye,Enjoying the moment, the admiring looks,Securing your name in the history books. When I was knee high, I was immortalBecause my Mum always held my handI knew no harm would come to meIn this, the safest place in the land, Her hands were always there to guide meTo show me where to goHer hands were forever knittingTo keep us warm in Winters snow, They were there to wave me offEach morning when I left for schoolBecause you know she wouldnt let meGrow up to be no fool, As I started to grow olderI would walk of my own accordAnd those hands once there for safetyChanged roles to encourage and applaud, Later when I took a hand in marriageWith new little hands to hold in mineShe was always there when neededTo take their hands and give us time, For many years they still held strongWrapping presents as each birthday came alongGiving out big hugs at ChristmasIn the growing family throng, But then they started to become unsureNot remembering what to doSo I knew that it was my timeTo hold her hand and help her through, We walked so many milesIn corridors hand in handI just hope that in her own mindWe were walking in the sand. Dear Lovely Death - Langston Hughes. Mum would cook our dinnerDad came home at fiveWe were all sitting at the tableWaiting for him to arrive. The feet of dancersShine with mirth,Their hearts are vibrant as bells: The air flows by themDivided like waterCut by a gleaming ship. And now I have another child,perfect in every way;I know Ive seen that smile before,and this time, its here to stay. It was a joy to watch him, for he movedAs if he were the embodiment of joy,As if the energy that animated himWere a spirit that he couldnt destroy,A force that he had learned to channelInto the grace of his somersaults and cartwheels,The beauty of his handstands. Musically, perhaps a bit sentimental, "When an Old Cricketer Leaves the Crease" by Roy Harper. A bonnet, a jacket, and bootees tooWill they need to be made in blue or in pink?Perhaps lemon is safe, she could do them there and thenInstead of having to guess or even to think. The worst berets you have ever seen(pics appreciated)? Dont worry about mourning me,I was never easy to offend.Feel free to share a story at my expenseAnd well have a good laugh at the end. Aunt Mabel Don Geiger A poem written for a specific aunt, but which many nieces and nephews can relate to.My Aunt Megan Stokes A poem written for an aunt but can be used for a generic female role model.What My Aunt Meant To Me anon A beautiful poem indicating the place in our hearts that our aunt held. In winter gentle sheep may graze Preserving turf for summer days, A picket fence thrown round the square Inner pages (if required) are printed on high quality 120gsm white bond. What are Airlines Policies on carrying ashes? Never will I be covered in tattoosMy legs and toes shall forever stay bruised.Ill never paint or carry a tuneForever and ever, Ill wear a tutu. He had a keen eye, a quick hand and a skillTo work manually with strength and effort and willHis hard work inspired and was in demand,not just near home but across the land. who will be next?want to face me?come on dont be shy! When my bowling ball reaches the end of the alleyI hope for a strike.And when my life culminates in a dramatic finale,Thats what Id like. There were some lovely lines in the eulogy for Phillip Hughes. Your email address will not be published. Sweetheart, I love youBut I cannot bind you to meI see the longing in your eyeswhile you are watching these mountainsthose sunsets. Stand upon the mountainRaise your wings up highCast aside the chains of fearTrust and you will fly. My Love, You Gave Yourself To Me anon A verse to be read by, or on behalf of, a grieving spouse. A Fleeting Image Avi Fleischer A beautiful poem about life with several artistic metaphors.Go On With The Day Silvia Hartmann A poem urging those left behind to marvel at the beauty and art within life.Importance of Art Komal Jindal A poem highlighting the deceaseds artistic achievements.We Are All Painters Ola Radka A short verse arguing that everyone paints their life with beauty and emotion. Butterflies From Heaven anon A poem about what it might mean when a butterfly comes to you.Butterfly Kisses John F. Connor A poem which equates the butterfly to the spirit of those who have left us behind.Little Butterfly Amy Farquhar A poem for a person who lived their life cocooned within the love of their friends.On A Butterflys Wings Jim Howard A short, slightly religious poem about the journey to the next life.While Waiting For Thee anon A beautiful, brief verse about the soul of the departed dancing in the air around us. I want to take away all of your pain.I want to give you sunshine in the rain. Oh me! Although I cannot see you,I feel your presence near.I will hold you close in memory,Till I drop my very last tear. Life gave you many challenges Too many to be fair I only wish in all those timesI could have been right there. On a fair day by accident, afterThe bargains are all made and we can walkTogether through the shops and stalls and marketsFree in the oriental streets of thought. Poems for those who enjoyed the art of bell ringing, or who simply enjoyed the sound of church bells. I love a sunburnt country, a land of sweeping plains,Of ragged mountain ranges, of droughts and flooding rains.I love her far horizons, I love her jewel-sea,Her beauty and her terror- the wide brown land for me! And be less quick to angerAnd show appreciation moreAnd love the people in our livesLike weve never loved before. wc19 contest Brevity 30 words or less to the attached Mark Croucher painting Time f.. - Joanna Garrido, Profanity : Our optional filter replaced words with *** on this page , Today, Tomorrow, Long Ago and Years to Come. Anger, hate, sorrow and fear, emotions within meant to be kept at bay,Courage, patients, persistence within ones mind and soul each dayThe art of fighting is so much more than just effective ways to kill,It sharpens and enriches the human mind with each new learned skill. The times you saved a structure, a lifeor doing the unthinkable, you were there. The gardener is a patient man,He works from dawn as much he can;And when the day is done and hes through,He looks with pride at what he grew. I always begin With the first clue across, Continuing on Until Im at a loss. Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,Silence the pianos and with muffled drumBring out the coffin, let the mourners come. Poems for those who loved nothing better than riding on two wheels. Your life was fueled by coffee,That much we know is true.It was more than just a drink,But a way of life for you. Sorry I had to cut the end off, but ARRSE only lets you post 10,000 characters at a time. Poems for those who made a living as a florist, or who simply enjoyed picking, giving or receiving flowers. Golden wheat in sheaves preparedFor winter that will reign,The story of the life of manTold by the golden grain. I loved to be in the wind. Which organisations allow you to scatter? All verses featured on this website are free to use during any ceremony, although it is good practice to make sure the author is mentioned, if known. - "Everything brown is not chocolate.". Life is an ocean and love is a boat,In troubled water that keeps us afloat,When we started the voyage, there was just me and you Now gathered round us, we have our own crew. Ring out the grief that saps the mindFor those that here we see no more;Ring out the feud of rich and poor,Ring in redress to all mankind. I am a martial artist. As the flag is lowered to half mast,We mourn the loss of one who has passed.A lover of flags, they stood so proud,A symbol of freedom, they did avow. It pictures death as an old friend, rather than something to be feared, which might be of some comfort to those in mourning. As I look up to the skies above,The stars stretch endlessly But somehow all those rays of lightSeem dimmer now to me.As I watch the morning sun appearThe shadows still dont fadeAs if the brightest light of allWas somehow swept away. Crouching down low, I wait for the starters gunBang! SURLY was the crossword clue,I gave a sideways stare;my hubby gave a stifled coughand looked into the air. Poems for those who always sought the bullseye, or that magical score of one hundred and eighty! I pray the umpire knows his job,And doesnt lift his finger.But if he does I pledge to you:Ill not forlornly linger. Nor is it the game of chance, that punting always brings, From TAB and bookies, and bar-room betting rings, The heady smell of fine manure, turf so lush and green, Fine dressed folk and superb horseflesh, making up the scene.
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