Flower Funeral Poems | Flower Poems About Funeral
These Flower Funeral poems are examples of Flower poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Flower Funeral poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
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Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?
For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.
From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.
As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.
Copyright © Tom Valles
the skies are broken
and the winds ravage mad
bringing famine clad
which stir awake our ecosystem to cry
weeping tears-falling hot-
and the ecosystem destroyed clean-
clings to its last strength
while malicious man continue the strangle:
come with that cup of water
for my flower shivers cold in thirst
bring it and let me water it
else it shall fail and
no flower shall my lover gain
Copyright © Gerald Nforche
I don’t want flowers at my funeral
I should add this too my will
What use are they to me when I am dead
I’d prefer them now if I were ill
I love their sheer beauty
This no one can disguise
The scent of a bunch of freesias
Brings tears to my eyes
My favourite flowers are carnations
I’ve loved them since I was a kid
Red, yellow, orange, shades
These colours I love but not on my grave
So when I’m gone and the mourning is over
I’m to be scattered where the four winds blow
Bradda Head is my chosen resting place
It’s a place I’ve often loved to go
3rd April 2014
Copyright © JAN ALLISON
If mine heart should speak, let it speak so well;
For I may not have another time to tell.
Let me say it straight; let me say it clear,
It may not be so loud but the deaf can hear.
It's for the sane to commend me of my views
And for the fools to take me as a foe;
For my word shall either be sweet or foul
But it bears the frankness of my soul.
The sheer desire for wealth or fame
I apt no more for all is vain.
It's good enough for me to see
That I've lived a life in each passing day.
When a man is young he's at his best
And a merry soul has no time to rest.
But life's like hanging on a ledge
The soul is weakened at the ripe old age.
No amount of sleep shall recompense or mend
Of a good dream lost to awakening;
So as a speeding star in a tranquil gaze
That fell so sudden before a wish.
The time that flies and makes one old
Burgeons the burdens of an old man's load.
It shall be heavier when he departs
If he'll bear the laments of a shattered heart.
Life is doomed and to cease one day;
Not a single soul can choose to stay.
Better pave a way for the saints to stroll
So that bad old serpent could tempt no more.
Then for my own sake I'll pray with them
That my soul be freed from the hell's domain.
And my heart won't dare to sing again
Those mournful lines of life's refrain.
A blissful sunset shall start to thrive
Nocturnal solace upon my head.
Then it shall be on the day I die
When flowers bloom and birds do fly.
Author: Jecon B. Nadela
Date & Time of Writing:
10 May 2014 ; 2:03pm - 3:21pm
Thanks God I'm writing again.
Copyright © Jecon B. Nadela