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. Thtitiede. The strings were tied, it was freshly washed, and maybe even pressed.For Grandma, it was every day to choose one when she dressed.The simple apron that it was, you would never think about.the things she used it for, that made it look worn out. Think of me as one at rest,for me you should not weepI have no pain no troubled thoughtsfor I am just asleepThe living thinking me that was,is now forever stillAnd life goes on without me now,as time forever will. From the first time that you hold em,Through every time you scold em,And every soiled nappy that youve changed,From all the crap you saw,They will always dish out more,Its just the way that children are arranged. Oh! Poems for those who had a love for the beach, seashore, sand, and tides. Once it was new, best thing on the road,But now its just old; so whos driving this car? 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. Poems for those who shared a passion for literature, or who worked in a literary setting during their life. This suffering flesh, How did you find the energy, MumTo do all the things you did,To be teacher, nurse and counsellorTo me, when I was a kid? Death is too negative for meSo Ill be popping off for a long cup of teaDo splash out on two bags in the potAnd for my gods sake keep the water hotPlease pick the biggest mug you can findSize really does matter at this timeIll pass on the lapsang with that souchongAnd that stuff with bergamotAnd stick with my favourite friendYou know the English breakfast blendBreakfast! MORE THYME! I dont give a jot!Ive railed and Ive raved since my dotage beganIts my privilege, cos Im a grumpy old man. 'Play up! play up!' | Poetry | The Guardian Come to the beach and remember;Make some footprints of your own,And think of days now absentAnd the memories weve known. His Mothers Hair April Ossman A poem reminding us that we find reminders of our lost loved ones at any moment.Life As A Hairdresser Amanda Knowles A poem about the ups and downs of working in the hairdressing profession.What Secrets Are Revealed Lynne Howard A poem about the conversations to be had in a hairdressers chair. Ive got the bowling ball blues.I just cannot get a strike.I bought these white leather shoes.I paid a mighty fine price.Come on now, roll like thunder,Drop those pins asunder:Cure my bowling ball blues. Today, the road all runners come,Shoulder-high we bring you home,And set you at your threshold down,Townsman of a stiller town. Anyone can stand by you when you are right,but a true Friend will stand by you even when you are wrong!A simple friend identifies himself when he calls.A real friend doesnt have to.A simple friend opens a conversation with a full news bulletin on his life.A real friend says, Whats new with you?A simple friend thinks the problems you whine about are recent.A real friend says, Youve been whining about the same thing for 14 years.Get off your duff and do something about it.A simple friend has never seen you cry.A real friend has shoulders soggy from your tears.A simple friend doesnt know your parents first names.A real friend has their phone numbers in his address book.A simple friend brings a bottle of wine to your party.A real friend comes early to help you cook and stays late to help you clean.A simple friend hates it when you call after he has gone to bed.A real friend asks you why you took so long to call.A simple friend seeks to talk with you about your problems.A real friend seeks to help you with your problems.A simple friend wonders about your romantic history.A real friend could blackmail you with it.A simple friend, when visiting, acts like a guest.A real friend opens your refrigerator and helps himself.A simple friend thinks the friendship is over when you have an argument.A real friend knows that its not a friendship until after youve had a fight.A simple friend expects you to always be there for them.A real friend expects to always be there for you! That man was made of many partsA teacher of lifes skills and artsFull of love and full of careWith much to give, and much to share. To shake our gravity up. The sounds of all your heartbeatsAre my sweetest melodyAnd at all my heavenly bedtimeThe angels play it back to me. Daughter, life is not the samenow youre no longer here,but our love for you is still strongand will remain year after year. Your fingerprints are on my heart.Fingerprints that teach me about caring.Fingerprints that teach me about love.Fingerprints that teach me about courage.Fingerprints that teach me about hope.Fingerprints that bring me closer to my loved ones.Fingerprints that bring me closer to myself.In the time I cared for you my whole life changed never to be the same againAll this from tiny fingerprints that touch my heart.You will live in my heart forever never to be forgotten.I will always love you.You are my child. Sir Henry Newbolt's "Vitai Lampada" ("Play up! Humour is an essential part of life, so why not of death. Her creations all made with such skill and such careLove knitted into the gifts who would shareA jacket for a baby, a blanket or twoIn almost every shade from pink to blue. Bottles of red, bottles of white,Barrels of brown and glasses so bright,Keep the night peaceful and the customers polite,Dont let a fight break out tonight. Funeral poems: six uplifting readings about death | The Week UK For untying the strings that held them,when they grew up and left home.I give you this one for courage.Then the Lord added a garnet stone. The fourth candle we light for our love. as when he showed up immaculately dressed in slacks and plaid jacketand had that beautiful smile on and youd talk.Youd go to get something and come back and hed be gone. But you think I am goneYou dont see me, but I can see youWhatever the problems, I will help you get through. So let us honour and rememberThe warriors spirit that lives onFor it will be with us foreverIn every battle, lost or won. Funeral Poems | Popular Bereavement Poems | SunLife Im just a little angel but my time was not in vain.As dark clouds that surround you give way unto the sun,My precious parents you will see that any heart will sing,If only for a moment it is brushed by angel wings. 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. Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? You are the picture I paint in my headOf beauty that only exists in thought.You are the picture I dream of in bed.Of beauty that I have forever thought. You loved the roaring of the crowd,The rush of victory,You loved the sweat, the tears, the toil,The adrenaline, so sweet. M. K. Paul A verse asking the question of what exactly a fathers role is in life. The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;For nothing now can ever come to any good. The archer and his bowNever cease to amaze;They are togetherThroughout all days. cricket poems for funerals. 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. - Navjot Sidhu 5 1 Add a comment The third umpires should be changed as often as nappies and for the same reason. I must be off to the links again,For the call of the fairways wideIs a loud call, and a clear callThat cannot be denied.It fills me with a mad desire to realiseMy dreams of tee-shots long,And irons strongTo the heart of all the greens. Excludes Gift Memberships, Discount applies to first year. Youve made me laugh,when I wanted to cry.Youve made me stronger,when I felt so weak I could die. The third candle we light in your memory: the times we laughed, the times we cried,the times we were angry towards each other, the silly things you did, and the caring and joy you gave us. My toes may bleedAnd my knees, grow weakBut Ill never stop dancingNot until I reach my peak. Totally fictional, totally far fetched, and totally brilliant. The Road goes ever on and onOut from the door where it began.Now far ahead the Road has gone,Let others follow it who can!Let them a journey new begin,But I at last with weary feetWill turn towards the lighted inn,My evening-rest and sleep to meet. Sometimes we do the rumba,a foxtrot or a jive,as we dance through our life,each and every day. SURLY was the crossword clue,I gave a sideways stare;my hubby gave a stifled coughand looked into the air. radcliff ky city council candidates 2020 The race begins,as engines roar.They charge ahead,like a wild boar. And yet, I watch the magic that they bringWith ease and supple strength and smiling face.They leap and spin and fly and then they swing,Theres nothing that they do thats commonplace. Hey, you guys, dont feel guilty,It was just my time to go.I can see youre all feeling sad,I can see the tears still flow. Death is an inevitable fate.Someday we have to go.You hope you didyour best in life,but how are you to know? The memories so dear and true,those memories of me and you. It fell on my parching palateLike dew on a sun-baked plain,And my system began to flourishLike the grass in a soft Spring rain;It wandered throughout my being,Suffusing my soul with rest,And I felt as I scoffed that liquidThat life had a new-found zest. Weve travelled miles upon this earthWithout home behind the carThe fun and laughter we have sharedAs we travelled long and far. Poetry and Verses for Funerals and Epitaphs. 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. Could you sit and rock her and read her a story?Shes probably afraid; please tell her dont worry.Tell her mommy loves her and wishes she could be here,But it wont be for many more years. Could I meet family and friends, Lord?All those who have gone before?Have you lots of seats for supporters?And markers who will score? I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,And the wheels kick and the winds song and the white sails shaking,And a grey mist on the seas face and a grey dawn breaking. So fleeting is this thing called life, we journey toward its end,experiencing pieces of a puzzle we dont truly comprehend.The hues of our emotion paint a picture of our past,as we hurtle toward a destiny that is not meant to last.Youth a canvas all in white, not knowing what awaits,feel caresses of a brush that which we know as fate.Love so very true in reds, that beat within our heart,shadows black take form as hate, which tears the soul apart.Greens of joy and happiness, lush grass beyond compare,sadness, shrouded depths of blue, the waters of despair.Yellow screams of agony and pain which we endure.Guilt and shame are shades of grey, a torrential downpour.Earthy brown desires are that for which we lust,the loss of which comes with age, like chrome begins to rust.The image changing constantly as time plods slowly on,taking shape in many forms, as the twilight replaces dawn.We look into a mirror for the answers which we seek,but we find no consolation as our eyes grow dim and weak.The final touches on a painting created with much love,as we realise that the destination is the gallery above. You are a breath of fresh air on a hot summers night.When there is darkness, you turn on the light. So rest now my beautiful Nanna,Ill never forget how much you have done.So until my hand meets yours again,Sleep now in the sun. I am a double award-nominated Family and Funeral Celebrant covering the entire UK, and would be happy to help you commemorate in a meaningful and personal way. You left us beautiful memories,Your love is still our guideAnd though we cannot see you,You are always by our side. The NHS Overused? Cricket is played by two teams of eleven players and two umpires. We ate greens, we ate biscuitsWe ate lamb chops and fresh-picked peasWe said yes dad, we said no dadWe said thank you mum and please. The world needs you.Believe me, its true!Some things need doingThat only you can do. Luther F. Beecher A verse comparing a ships journey to the idea of death.Psalm 23 Sailors Edition anon A revised version of Psalm 23 adapted to include sailing metaphors.Sailors Rest D.R. June 14, 2022; jeep renegade 4x4 usata francoforte sul meno; astrological predictions for trump 2022 . They swiftly snatch a morning snack.One flies away,One flies back. Pink tights by the moundBobby pins all aroundLeotards on the floorPointe shoes by the door. So Im off for a golfing holiday,Far away fromThe cares of town.And Ill strive each dayBetter golf to playtill my handicap comes down. Until we lose. Some folk can cheer up a cold dayWith just a few words or a glance.Others can make things seem betterIf you just give them half of a chance. The pain of losing you is as intense as our love for you. Poems for those who enjoyed flag collecting or were simply masters of vexillology. Required fields are marked *. by | Jul 10, 2021 | opentimeclock 2004 login | list of navy reserve units | Jul 10, 2021 | opentimeclock 2004 login | list of navy reserve units When great trees fallin forests,small things recoil into silence,their senseseroded beyond fear. So dance with me this eveningAbove the lands belowThe clouds provide our dance floorNeath the light of those we know. Well, it isn't. If you can keep your head when all about youAre losing theirs and blaming it on you,If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,But make allowance for their doubting too;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,Or being lied about, dont deal in lies,Or being hated, dont give way to hating,And yet dont look too good, nor talk too wise: If you can dreamand not make dreams your master;If you can thinkand not make thoughts your aim;If you can meet with Triumph and DisasterAnd treat those two impostors just the same;If you can bear to hear the truth youve spokenTwisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,And stoop and build em up with worn-out tools: If you can make one heap of all your winningsAnd risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,And lose, and start again at your beginningsAnd never breathe a word about your loss;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinewTo serve your turn long after they are gone,And so hold on when there is nothing in youExcept the Will which says to them: Hold on!. Poems perfect for those fond of legs eleven and two little ducks in the bingo hall. A humanist funeralis a non-religious ceremony that focuses on the person who has died, the life they led, and the relationships they forged. She is in the presence of a storythat is lifting her out of her lifeand carrying her offto a place where the air is clearand the sun is always shining,to a place where the charactersare larger than lifeand their passions run deep,to a place where she is freeto lose herselfin the company of words. It broke our hearts to lose you,But you didnt go alone,For part of us went with youThe day God called you home. 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. Apart from its sporting associations, this cheerful song is the audio equivalent of a ray of sunshine - perfect for celebration of life funerals. I love all types of fossils, old bones and stones,A glimpse into the past thats otherwise unknown,I search the wide earth, and dig deep down withinTo uncover all the secrets of our ancient kin. &In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: it goes on.& Robert Frost, &What we have done for ourselves alone dies with us; what we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.&Albert Pike, &The fear of death follows from the fear of life. Bury Me In Lycra! I havent really left you guys,I am closer than you know,I will be the whisper in the wind,I will be everywhere you go. Poems about grandmothers, grandmas, nannies and grans. Non-religious funeral readings are a beautiful way to connect to grieving loved ones, giving you the ability to make a non-religious funeral personal and unique. It was the way he moved that made him seemSo much a part of what he did;In every somersault and cartwheelHe seemed to turn himself to air. Wonderful gifts; each stitch made with loveA creative gift that was so easy to seeA jumper for this one, some scarves for themOr for a new baby a layette of three. Thousands of bells chimed overheadTheir lovely tone shaping my thoughtsSplendid new lands danced in my sightBut with ten thousand bells as my guideI would never be lost. Poems predominantly for those who worked behind a bar, but also those hobby mixologists. Not quite a reading, but maybe verses from "when an old cricketer leaves the crease", a song by Roy Harper. Poems for brothers, young and old, loyal and caring, reflecting the nuances of fraternal relationships. It wove its way within our hearts, in all our hopes and dreams,Until the very purest love became my tiny wings.Although I could not stay with you, I knew right from the start,That once you felt your angels love, youd keep me in your hearts. Have you checked the smoke detectors? Mother wore an ample apronTo cover her clean dress.Shed tell you thats what it was forIf you asked her, I would guess. His bricks though were not just forged in fire,His family were his foundation and his desireThe mortar was his love, his caring, his skillHe loved you all dearly, and loves you all still. Do not go gentle into that good night, When you were a boy I dreamedOf the man you would become;But life had other plans for youWith challenges more than one. Ring out false pride in place and blood,The civic slander and the spite;Ring in the love of truth and right,Ring in the common love of good. The bodys anatomy and physiology, the minds psychology must be knownBy a fighter in order for the perfect execution of a technique to be shownMartial arts is a pursue of knowledge, many things that one must learn,So the hidden swirling potential within gets drawn out to burn. With a nod of the head, or a grip of the hand,He will give you his bond, that for ever will stand,And nothing much safer youll find in the land;For that is the badge of a Yorkshireman. My Love, You Gave Yourself To Me anon A verse to be read by, or on behalf of, a grieving spouse. Though I see the branches swaying.And watch their dancing leavesThe echoes carried on the windDont sound the same to meAs I listen to the morning birdsSing softly from afar It seems to be a mournful tuneThat echoes in my heart. He cannot help but be aware that such is the end of all life. Closer, the bowler's arm swept down, The ball swung, swerved and darted, Stump and bail flashed and flew; The batsman pensively departed. I had two Mothers two Mothers I claimTwo different people, yet with the same name.Two separate women, diverse by design,But I loved them both because they were mine.The first was the Mother who carried me here,Gave birth and nurtured and launched my career.She was the one whose features I bear,Complete with the facial expressions I wear.She gave me her love, which follows me yet,Along with the examples in life that she set.As I got older, she somehow younger grew,And wed laugh as just Mothers and daughters should do.But then came the time that her mind clouded so,And I sensed that the Mother I knew would soon go.So quickly she changed and turned into the other,A stranger who dressed in the clothes of my Mother.Oh, she looked the same, at least at arms length,But now she was the child and I was her strength.Wed come full circle, we women three,My Mother the first, the second and me.And if my own children should come to a day,When a new Mother comes and the old goes away,Id ask of them nothing that I didnt do.Love both of your Mothers as both have loved you. You made me proud of who you areand all that you have done You often reached beyond the starsto find your goals and won. Funeral Poems For Cricketers "A Cricketer's Last Boundary"