I have collected a selection of poems and readings you may like to use during a ceremony, I hope you will find something suitable. I intend to add more regularly.

We Remember Them, Rabbis Sylvan Kamens and Jack Riemer

At the rising of the sun and at its going down

We remember them.


At the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter

We remember them.


At the opening of the buds and in the rebirth of spring

We remember them.


At the blueness of the skies and in the warmth of summer

We remember them.


At the rustling of the leaves and in the beauty of autumn

We remember them.


At the beginning of the year and when it ends

We remember them.


As long as we live, they too will live;

for they are now a part of us


as we remember them.

When we are weary and in need of strength


We remember them.

When we are lost and sick at heart


We remember them.

When we have joy we crave to share


We remember them.

When we have decisions that are difficult to make


We remember them.

When we have achievements that are based on theirs


We remember them.

As long as we live, they too will live;

for they are now a part of us

as we remember them

The West Wind, John Masefield

It’s a warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries;
I never hear the west wind but tears are in my eyes.
For it comes from the west lands, the old brown hills.
And April’s in the west wind, and daffodils.

It’s a fine land, the west land, for hearts as tired as mine,
Apple orchards blossom there, and the air’s like wine.
There is cool green grass there, where men may lie at rest,
And the thrushes are in song there, fluting from the nest.

“Will ye not come home brother? ye have been long away,
It’s April, and blossom time, and white is the may;
And bright is the sun brother, and warm is the rain,–
Will ye not come home, brother, home to us again?

“The young corn is green, brother, where the rabbits run.
It’s blue sky, and white clouds, and warm rain and sun.
It’s song to a man’s soul, brother, fire to a man’s brain,
To hear the wild bees and see the merry spring again.

“Larks are singing in the west, brother, above the green wheat,
So will ye not come home, brother, and rest your tired feet?
I’ve a balm for bruised hearts, brother, sleep for aching eyes,”
Says the warm wind, the west wind, full of birds’ cries.

It’s the white road westwards is the road I must tread
To the green grass, the cool grass, and rest for heart and head,
To the violets, and the warm hearts, and the thrushes’ song,
In the fine land, the west land, the land where I belong.

The Tree Of Life, Anon

The death of each of us is in the order of things; it follows 

life as surely as night follows day. We can take the tree of 

life as a symbol. The human race is the trunk and 

branches of this tree, and individual men and women are 

the leaves which appear one season, flourish for a 

summer and then die. I too am like a leaf on this tree and 

one day I shall be torn off by a storm, or I shall simply 

decay and fall and mingle with the earth at it’s roots. But, 

while I live I am conscious of the tree’s flowing sap and 

steadfast strength. Deep down in my consciousness is 

the consciousness of a collective life, a life of which I 

am a part as to which I make a minute but unique 

contribution. When I die and fall, the tree remains 

nourished to some small degree by my manifestation of 

life. Millions of leaves have preceded me and millions will 

follow me; but the tree itself grows and endures.

Th’ Gowden Weddin’, Anon

It seems no mooar nor tuthri year,

Sin’ th’ day ‘at we wur wed!

An’ yet ther’s fifty summers bloomed,

An’ fifty winters fled.

-We’ve hed eawr share o’ strife an’ care,

I’ ploddin’ throo life’s way,

Sin’ th’ parson med us booath i’ one,

Just fifty year to-day.


To-day’s eawr gowden weddin’, lass!—

Sooa sit tha deawn wi’ me,

An’ talk a bit o’er owden times,

An’ things ‘at used to be.

We’re gettin’ close to th’ latter end,

But still we’ll not repine ;

An’ time’s changed welly everything,

Except that heart o’ thine.


Thi yure ‘at shone like burnished gowd,

For years hes neaw bin grey;

An’ youth’s breet roses fro’ thi cheeks

Hev long sin’ passed away.

But tho’ theaw weears time’s fingermarks

I’ th’ wrinkles on thi broo,

Theaw’rt th’ same as what theaw allus wur—

Theaw’rt luvvin’, kind, an’ true.


We’ve booath warked hard, an’ poo’d one road

Throo th’ rough an’ smooth o’ life;

An’ struggled on as nob’dy con,

Exceptin’ mon an’ wife.

An’ tho’ we’ve booath bin quare at times,

When things hes bin upset,—

An’, maybe, hed a word or two,

Ther’s nowt to cause regret.


Last neet, aw passed throo th’ owd churchyard,

An’ stood wi’ heavin’ breast

Bi th’ grave wheer eawr three darlin’s lie

So peacefully at rest.

Eh, lass !—thoose days wur happy days !—

Pure bliss, witheawt alloy,

Till Death stretched eawt his cruel hond,

An’ robbed us uv eawr joy.


It med me feel so sad, mi lass,

To think they o hed gone,

For weel theaw knows what pain it wur,

To lose ’em everyone.


Andrea Jackson The Holistic Celebrant

Contact me by phone or email

Pin It on Pinterest