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.

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.


Daffodils, William Wordsworth

I wander’d lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils,

Beside the lake, beneath the trees
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.


Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretch’d in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.


The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: –
A poet could not but be gay
In such a jocund company!
I gazed – and gazed – but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought.


For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills
And dances with the daffodils.

Andrea Jackson The Holistic Celebrant

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