Funerals can truly be augmented by a poem that is apt and fitting for the person you have just lost. The following list of funeral poems about gardening are perfect for those who loved getting their fingers green and pottering about in the garden.
Finding You In Beauty
by Walter Rinder
The rays of light filtered through
The sentinels of trees this morning.
I sat in the garden and contemplated.
The serenity and beauty
Of my feelings and surroundings
Completely captivated me.
I thought of you.
I discovered you tucked
Away in the shadow of the trees.
Then rediscovered you on the smiles of the flowers
As the sun penetrated the petals;
In the rhythm of the leaves
Falling in the garden;
In the freedom of birds
As they fly searching as you do.
Now, you will never leave me,
For I will always find you
In the beauty of life.
The Gardener
by Mark Gregory
The gardener, with his spade and hoe,
Works in the sun and rain and snow;
He digs and plants and waters too,
And watches over what he grew.
He tends the flowers with loving care,
And prunes the branches here and there;
He weeds the beds and mends the fences,
And gathers up the fallen senses.
He is a lover of the earth,
And all the wonders it gives birth;
He is a lover of the bloom,
And all the fragrant, sweet perfume.
The gardener is a patient man,
He works from dawn as much he can;
And when the day is done and he’s through,
He looks with pride at what he grew.
So let us all be gardeners fair,
And tend to life with love and care,
And watch the seeds we plant come through,
To bloom and flourish, strong and true.
The Gardener (Female Version)
by Mark Gregory (adapted by Tracey Schoales)
The gardener, with her spade and hoe,
Works in the sun and rain and snow;
She digs and plants and waters too,
And watches over what she grew.
She tends the flowers with loving care,
And prunes the branches here and there;
She weeds the beds and clips the hedges,
And neatens all around the edges.
She is a lover of the earth,
And all the wonders it gives birth;
She is a lover of the bloom,
And all the fragrant, sweet perfume.
The gardener is a patient lady
Planting in full sun and a spot that’s shady
When the day is done and she’s through,
She looks with pride at what she grew.
So let us all be gardeners fair,
And tend to life with love and care,
And watch the seeds we plant come through,
To bloom and flourish, strong and true.
The Gentle Gardener
by Edgar Albert Guest
I’d like to leave but daffodils
to mark my little way,
To leave but tulips red and white
behind me as I stray;
I’d like to pass away from earth
and feel I’d left behind
But roses and forget-me-nots
for all who come to find.
I’d like to sow the barren spots
with all the flowers of earth,
To leave a path where those who come
should find but gentle mirth;
And when at last I’m called upon
to join the heavenly throng
I’d like to feel along my way
I’d left no sign of wrong.
And yet the cares are many
and the hours of toil are few;
There is not time enough on earth
for all I’d like to do;
But, having lived and having toiled,
I’d like the world to find
Some little touch of beauty
that my soul had left behind.
The Glory Of The Garden
by Rudyard Kipling
Our England is a garden that is full of stately views,
Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues,
With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by;
But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
For where the old thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall,
You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all;
The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks:
The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.
And there you’ll see the gardeners, the men and ‘prentice boys
Told off to do as they are bid and do it without noise;
For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds,
The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose,
And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows;
But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam,
For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.
Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made
By singing:–”Oh, how beautiful!” and sitting in the shade,
While better men than we go out and start their working lives
At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.
There’s not a pair of legs so thin, there’s not a head so thick,
There’s not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick.
But it can find some needful job that’s crying to be done,
For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.
Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders,
If it’s only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders;
And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden,
You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.
Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees
That half a proper gardener’s work is done upon his knees,
So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray
For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!
And the Glory of the Garden it shall never pass away!
Meet You At The Gate
by Barbara Bailey
A beautiful garden now stands alone,
missing the one who nurtured it,
But now she is gone.
Her flowers still bloom, and the sun it still shines,
But the rain is like tear drops for the ones left behind,
The weeds lay waiting to take the garden’s beauty away,
But the beautiful memories of its keeper are in our hearts to stay.
She loved every flower, even some that were weeds.
So much love she would plant with each little seed,
But just like her flowers, she was part of God’s plan.
So when it was her time, he reached down his hand.
He looked through the garden, searching for the best.
That’s when he found her; it was her time to rest.
It was hard for those who loved her to just let her go,
But God had a spot in his garden that needed a gentle soul,
So when you start missing her, remember if you just wait,
When God has a spot in his garden, she’ll meet you at the gate.
The Noblest Work Of Man
by Mark Gregory
The earth was made so sweet,
The sky so fair,
For man to cultivate
And love and wear.
But we, alas! we miss
The joy that lies
In labour, and in this
Grow old before our time.
The gardener’s art
Is Nature’s own,
And he who tends a part
Tends the whole.
The noblest work of man
Is to add beauty to the world.
To access our full list of funeral poems, click here.
All poems featured on this website are free to use during any ceremony, although it is good practice to make sure the author is mentioned, if known. Should you require a celebrant for your ceremony, be it a funeral, a wedding, a naming ceremony or something else, feel free to get in touch. I am a double award-nominated Family and Funeral Celebrant covering the entire UK, and would be happy to help you commemorate in a meaningful and personal way.
