When the long, dark night is overAnd heaven begins its reignI promise you my darlingI will see you again. One, two, three, four,This is the life that I adore,Five, six, seven, eight,To the end of the stage, and there I wait. The first rose represents our grief.The pain of losing you is intense.It reminds us of the depth of our love for you. The Print+ membership where Singletrack magazine drops through your door, plus full digital access, is normally 45, now only 22.50 with the code. Dont curse me, for I have done you no wrong.I only want the acceptance I have needed for so long. We rowed, my friend and I, out past the swallowing reeds and the water lilies to where the river opened into a world of morning light and the herons voices and the musky scent of redemption and then we dipped our oars in unison and glided silently toward heaven. 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. 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. Fly, fly little wingFly where only angels singFly away, the time is rightGo now, find the light. Poems about those who suffered from and in some cases, succumbed to addiction. Im just a farmer,Plain and simple.Not of a royal birthBut rather, a worker of the earth. You were really one in a million,A cut above the rest.All who knew you would agree.You simply were the best. Therell be many destinationsSome are happy, some are sadEach one a brief reminderOf the great times that weve had. People emerge from winter to hear them ring,children glitter with mischief and the blind man hearsbells in the town alight with spring.Even he on his eyes feels the caressingfinger of Persephone, and her voice escaped from tearsmake clear the fresh and ancient sound they sing. extract from The Tempest by William Shakespeare. In the Theatre Of DreamsThe lights have dimmedThe curtains about to close, Its the end of the showSadly it happened you knowLife just ebbs and flows, The cast in my lifeWere my children, my wifeNow only memories fill my head, I have lived all my dreamsNow its the end of the sceneMy script has finally been read, When you walk through a stormHold your head up highAnd dont be afraid of the dark, At the end of a stormTheres a golden skyAnd the sweet silver song of a lark, Walk on through the windWalk on through the rainFor your dreams be tossed and blown, Walk on, walk onWith hope in your heartAnd youll never walk aloneYoull never walk alone. Poems about those people in our lives who stuck by us through thick and thin. And the white light warmed him andnurtured him andfed him great peace. Just know our love goes deep and strongWell forget you neverThe child we had, but never hadAnd yet will have forever! Everything Mum Joanna Fuchs A poem for a mum who somehow managed to do everything.Mother anon A verse reflecting upon a loving and devoted mother. So, if youre searching for a poem for a grandmother, scroll down to G or hit Ctrl+F to find grandmother on this page; this can be done for someone who loved cricket, someone who suffered from Alzheimers, someone who brought laughter into everyones lives, or any other topic you can think of. With tearful eyes we watched him sufferAnd saw him slowly fade awayAlthough we loved him dearlyWe could not make him stay. Poems for those who found a love of the stage either on or off it during their life. Over'? But we cant complain, it is only a game.Right? and whatever a sun will always sing is you. So sleep now with the angels,And your golden heart let rest.Although our hearts are broken,We know God took the best. The time has come when time is no moreand all thats left was once before. It took you as my mother,A girl you did become.Searching for the answersAnd looking for your mum. Sometimes your steps are very fast,Sometimes theyre hard to see,So walk a little slower Daddy,For you are leading me. Then all I want is the magic puff,And the straight and powerful driveTo complete the course,Using skill and forceIn a brilliant 65! Building A Legacy Mark Gregory A lovely little poem for a creative and passionate Lego builder.Lego House Britney Njomo I might be out of mindbut Im forever the queen of my Lego house.Ode To My Legos Dylan Harvey A poem ideal for the death of a child whose had a marvellous time with Lego. Spaces fillwith a kind ofsoothing electric vibration.Our senses, restored, neverto be the same, whisper to us.They existed. We know you can still hear us, Dad,So please know that this is true:Everything we are todayIs all because of YOU. I had to leave too soon,But love had joined us as I grew inside my Mommys womb. So darling please tend to the candle for meAnd nourish the flame lest it diesTill the day when its radiant beauty I seeAnd it guides me at last to your side. Poetry and Verses for Funerals and Epitaphs. Its been a long time since we first felt the beginning to this end.And today we pray before you; your family and your friends.Weve watched your thoughts get more obscure with every passing day;As this heartless thing called Alzheimers made them fade away.Gradually it took the gleam from those once so loving eyes.To befall on such a giving manit seemed so unjustified.Stripping you of everything, leaving nothing in its placeExcept a look of sadness left upon your face.As long as we have searched, through all the tears weve criedWeve tried to find the reason for this long good-bye.But now its time to take back all your memoriesAs you are finally free from this cruel disease.We pledge to remember the man that you once were;A good hearted, giving man is all that will be heard.And every night when we look up and see a certain starWe will know within our hearts exactly where you are.So on this day we say good-bye as you now depart.Although far from our touch, never far from our hearts. If you can leave a warm and cosy fireside,When winter winds, nigh chill you to the bone,To feed and scrape at morning, night or noontide,Yet utter not a grumble or a groan.If you can stand for hours with teeth a chatter,When parted hens decide that they will roam.And smiling, say, It doesnt really matter,I only hope that they will all come home. The city . Anyone have any other suggestions? Poems for those who had a calm aura, or poems for those who seek calmness in death. We mix the colours of sorrow and laughterAnd add the colours of experience and the years that passed.The souls we will always rememberAnd the moments we will never forget. 3. Magnificent machines,often tease disaster.Fearless warriors,strive for nothing but faster. One, two, three, four,Getting older now, cant take any more,Five, six, seven, eight,Model life is done, it was truly great. And now my race had endedSo much I have achievedI loved you all so very muchIt was so hard to leave. Pray dont find fault with the man who limpsor stumbles along the road,unless you have worn the shoes he wearsor struggled beneath his load.There may be tacks in his shoes that hurt,though hidden away from view,or the burden he bears, placed on your backmight cause you to stumble too.Dont sneer at the man whos down todayunless you have felt the blowthat caused his fall or felt the shamethat only the fallen know.You may be strong, but still the blowsthat were his if dealt to you,in the selfsame way, at the selfsame time,might cause you to stagger too.Dont be too harsh with the man who sinsor pelt him with word or stone,unless you are sure, yea, doubly sure,that you have no sins of your ownfor you know perhaps if the tempters voiceshould whisper as softly to youas it did to him when he went astray,it might cause you to stumble too. One popular poem, Dylan Thomas' " Do not go gentle into that good night ," talks about the unstoppable nature of death and how we can challenge the way we face death. The Beer Prayer - anon - A beer-infused version of the Lord's Prayer. Poems for those who enjoyed the tranquillity and competition of Crown Green Bowls. It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,Though my own red roses there may blow;It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast,And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping hostAs the run-stealers flicker to and fro,To and fro;O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago! cricket poems for funerals. Rugby, what a beautiful and passionate game Its not about money, fashion or fame. Those who live long endure sadness and tearsBut youll never suffer the sorrowing yearsNo betrayal, no anger, no hatred, no fearsJust love only love in your lifetime. I would be wearing a favourite dressYou as always looking your usual bestFeeling like Cinderella at the BallWith the most handsome Prince Charming of all. If someone had to describe you, so many words come to mind.Beauty and grace, a heart so kind. So rest in peace, chess master,Your love for the game will live on,Forever etched in the hearts of allWho knew and loved you for so long. Himself against himself, he ever setsHis knights, pawns, castles in a proud array;His soul the stake he on the issue bets Too great a prize to risk in thoughtless play. But now my shift is overIve done my very bestLast orders; its time for closureAnd time for me to rest. His labourers name was Dodger who would work now and then, most of the time was spent at The Bookies placing bets for other men. 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. Time flies like an arrow .. fruit flies like a banana. And Lord I pray that tonight or sometime real soon,I get to raise my voice in praise Praise that you deserve When I get to shout out BINGO! Fortifying The Spirits - Michael Ashby - A humorous poem . Oh me! Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness and mere oblivion;Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. There are so many poems for funerals available, that you have plenty to choose from. The Sadness Of Clothes Emily Fragos A poem about the sad things clothes might feel when their owner dies.A True Fashionista Mark Gregory A short poem highlighting how the deceaseds beauty will live on after death. 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. But now as no seat is vacantYou will have to muddle throughMake sure you fulfil your ambitionsAs you know Ill be watching you. *Replace Pemaquid Point with any relevant geographical location. The transfer window never closesAs new players arrive all the timeTheres always a top team to play onAs for the kit, I just wish Id brought mine. Do not ask me to remember,Dont try to make me understand,Let me rest and know youre with me,Kiss my cheek and hold my hand. The teams. Stump and bail flashed and flew; 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. Then as the leaves tumbleRemember me as a crimson jewelAs we allcarryon, humble,Until the cows come home. O precious, tiny, sweet little oneYou will always be to me.So perfect, pure, and innocentJust as you were meant to be. The dinosaur scratchings are slightly chewyAnd the Martian wines an unfriendly redBut not peeing in the night is pure delightAnd leaves you longer to hang over your bed. Cave of wonderscaverns so deepthrough vast rooms I wanderso many secrets to keep. Each one was pieced with tender care,With threads of love and light,A labour of love taking time and skill,For each quilt that lay in sight. A Long Cup Of Tea Michael Ashby A humorous poem about not dying, but going for a long cuppa instead.A Moment Of Tranquility Mark Gregory A poem about the inner peace found when enjoying a cup of tea.Tendrils Of Steam Mark Gregory A thoughtful poem equating the rising steam from a teacup to the spirit of life. Ive grown up with your values,And Im very glad I did;So heres to you, dear father,From your forever grateful kid. A Day At The Races Graeme Cook A verse about the wonders and marvels of spending a day at the racetrack.The Last Race Barbara Ogilvie A poem highlighting betting on horses as the core of the deceaseds life.The Music Of The Morn Fran Cleland A poem highlighting the wondrous thump of hooves on turf in the morning.Racing Through My Eyes Henry Birtles A wonderful poem that captures the unique atmosphere trackside.When The Ridings Done J. P. Gorham A poem suggesting the spirit of a horse rider will always endure at the track. There was a time when I was freeTo live my life in harmony,Before the illness, which blighted me,Swept faces and places from my mind,People I loved from my memory. When great trees fall,rocks on distant hills shudder,lions hunker downin tall grasses,and even elephantslumber after safety. I am a martial artist. At Lords Francis Thompson A condensed version by the famous poet encapsulating the atmosphere at Lords.Cricketers Last Boundary Michael Ashby A poem for a cricket-lover full of cricketing metaphors.A Cricketers Prayer anon A prayer that the game of cricket (and life) will be won, or at least be fair.The Cricketers Prayer East Leeds CC An adaptation of the Lords Prayer put together by a Yorkshire club. Though your heart wont let the sadnessSimply slide awayThe echoes will diminishEven though the memories stay. The archer and his bowWithout each other are nothing,But when they come togetherThey become quite something. Stalactites hang from abovetheir beauty alone is enoughwalls covered in draperiesmillions of years of Earths memories. 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. Poems about people who liked a drink - in a healthy way. To the feet of your Lord, your Saviour, and your friend. Poems for those who enjoyed the ebb and flow of angling. The Cricket Bag concludes with one of his poems which Third Man hopes no one will mind him passing on. And yet the cares are manyand the hours of toil are few;There is not time enough on earthfor all Id like to do;But, having lived and having toiled,Id like the world to findSome little touch of beautythat my soul had left behind. Time passed, that man grew old and frail,No longer strong, but weak and pale.Now I helped him, as hed helped meA debt to repay, no charge, no fee. The time you won your town the raceWe chaired you through the market-place.Man and boy stood cheering by,And home we brought you shoulder-high. Do you have a pavilion Lord?Where we could sit and talk?Can you give me lots of energySo that I am never short? You are loved by so many.You might notHave known,But in our heartsIs whereYou have grown.