[identity profile] glacierscarving.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] greatpoetry
  1. HOW DOTH THE LITTLE CROCODILE
    --Lewis Carroll

    How doth the little crocodile
    Improve his shining tail,
    And pour the waters of the Nile
    On every golden scale!
    How cheerfully he seems to grin,
    How neatly spreads his claws,
    And welcomes little fishes in,
    With gently smiling jaws!
     
  2. My father passed away this Monday and in an hurried attempt to create the funeral service that he deserves before my time up, I am putting together the booklet thing. The funeral director gave me two or three pages of terrible, cliche poems to put on the front of the thing but I looked them over and can't imagine any of them being worth much other than a Hallmark card. So, if you kind people would help me out in my time of need. I am looking for a poem, doesn't matter how long or how short that is about the longing of loved ones, the end of suffering, the afterlife, etc. Thank you. 

Date: 2009-11-12 07:21 pm (UTC)
From: [identity profile] outof-style.livejournal.com
I read this as part of the eulogy at my mom's funeral last year. I found it on the Web site for the hospice that provided her care. Through a little research, I found that it is part of a sermon written by Henry Scott Holland and delivered in St. Paul’s cathedral in 1910 following the death of King Edward VII. I still find it comforting.


Death is nothing at all. It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room. Nothing has happened.
Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you, and the old life that we lived so fondly together
Is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.
Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.
Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.
Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?
Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner.
All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again.

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