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Hi all, My gramps very sadly passed away yesterday, after being ill for some time, and I'd really like to do a reading or similar at his cremation next week.
He wasn't a religious man, so I don't want anything too 'churchy' (no offence to anyone, I'm religious myself but he wasn't).
I was thinking of one of Christina Rossetti's poems, but wondered if anyone else had any other favourites? I'd like something along the lines of remembering him in happy times etc.
There are several grandchildren, so it might be nice to have something with a couple of verses we can do each.
Any suggestions gratefully recieved...
Thankyou.
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For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.because my dad was a retired farmer and a working gardener in his retirement, when he died last Feb i chose this poem for my daughter (21) to read in the church and we had it printed in the order of service, it reminded us of our Dad.
Digging
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests; as snug as a gun.
Under my window a clean rasping sound
When the spade sinks into gravelly ground:
My father, digging. I look down
Till his straining rump among the flowerbeds
Bends low, comes up twenty years away
Stooping in rhythm through potato drills
Where he was digging.
The coarse boot nestled on the lug, the shaft
Against the inside knee was levered firmly.
He rooted out tall tops, buried the bright edge deep
To scatter new potatoes that we picked
Loving their cool hardness in our hands.
By God, the old man could handle a spade,
Just like his old man.
My grandfather could cut more turf in a day
Than any other man on Toner's bog.
Once I carried him milk in a bottle
Corked sloppily with paper. He straightened up
To drink it, then fell to right away
Nicking and slicing neatly, heaving sods
Over his shoulder, digging down and down
For the good turf. Digging.
The cold smell of potato mold, the squelch and slap
Of soggy peat, the curt cuts of an edge
Through living roots awaken in my head.
But I've no spade to follow men like them.
Between my finger and my thumb
The squat pen rests.
I'll dig with it.
Seamus Heaney
Hi Polotoo, I said this at my youngest sons funeral. I think it covers what you need without being'religious'.
Do not stand at my grave and weep
I�m not there � I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
And a diamond glimpse of snow
I am the sun and ripened grain
And the gentle autumn rain
When you awaken in the morning hush
And the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds and circled flight
I am the soft stars that shine at night
Do not stand at my grave and cry
I�m not there � I did not die
Hi dot,
That's a lovely poem. I have tears in my eyes. Unfortunately he was the most un-green fingered man ever, but may come in handy for one of my other rellies, should the time come.
Although not in the services he was very much into military things and world war history, archery and model making, if thats any help?
Thanks for your suggestion though - its appreciated.
The dash, its loveley, if you care to email me at
[email protected] i'll send you and anyone else a copy
Hi Polotoo, I'm sorry for your loss, having lost far too many people in my 30 years, it is to me life's great sadness that we have to lose anyone. Alas i am not religious, which can make it harder sometimes, but the strength of character of some of the people that have left me makes it impossible for me to believe they are gone forever. The following are fairly common funeral poems, but they're common because they're good, whatever you read is not intrinsically important, the fact that you're reading them is. Best of luck x
I'd like the memory of me to be a happy one.
I'd like to leave an afterglow of smiles when life is done.
I'd like to leave an echo whispering softly down the ways, of happy times, laughing times and bright and sunny days.
I'd like the tears of those who grieve, to dry before the sun of happy memories, that I leave when life is done.
All Is Well
Death is nothing at all,
I have only slipped into the next room
I am I and you are you
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by my old familiar name,
Speak to me in the easy way which you always used
Put no difference in your tone,
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household world that it always was,
Let it be spoken without effect, without the trace of shadow on it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It it the same as it ever was, there is unbroken continuity.
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near,
Just around the corner.
All is well.
By Henry Scott Holland (1847-1918)
Canon of St Paul's Cathedral
Hi Englishbird
Thankyou for your kind words, I'm sitting here with tears rolling down my face. I'm sad he is gone, but glad he is no longer suffering, which I felt so helpless having to watch.
I like the death is nothing at all, and also he is gone is perfect. and slightly shorter if I can't manage to get it all out.....
There's so many out there, I've just been googling and I'm a bit overwealmed! Will have to print them out and have a chat with the family.
BTW Clown Tickle - I think I've found the one about the dash - its lovely, but could you still email me with it if you get a chance, as yours might be different.
Thanks to everyone for your suggestions, I'm touched.
x
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