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Funeral Flower Poems | Flower Poems About Funeral

These Funeral Flower poems are examples of Flower poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Funeral Flower poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

Details | Rhyme |

Tender of Roses

Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your tender 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.

Details | Didactic |


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

Details | Free verse |

Flowers at my Funeral

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

Jan Allison
3rd April 2014