Life Well Lived

A life well lived is a precious gift,
Of hope and strength and grace,
From someone who has made our world
A brighter, better place.
It’s filled with moments, sweet and sad
With smiles and sometimes tears,
With friendships formed and good times shared,
And laughter through the years.
A life well lived is a legacy
Of joy and pride and pleasure,
A living, lasting memory
Our grateful hearts will treasure.

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This poem defines ‘a life well lived’ not by duration or achievements, but by its positive impact on others, the richness of shared experiences (both happy and sad), and the lasting, treasured memories it leaves behind. It focuses on legacy and gratitude.

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You can shed tears that she is gone,
Or you can smile because she has lived.
You can close your eyes and pray that she will come back,
Or you can open your eyes and see all that she has left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see her,
Or you can be full of the love that you shared.
You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday,
Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember her and only that she is gone,
Or you can cherish her memory and let it live on.
You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back,
Or you can do what she would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.
Warm summer sun,
Shine kindly here,
Warm southern wind,
Blow softly here.
Green sod above,
Lie light, lie light.
Good night, dear heart,
Good night, good night.
If I should go before the rest of you
Break not a flower nor inscribe a stone
Nor when I’m gone speak in a Sunday voice
But be the usual selves that I have known
Weep if you must
Parting is hell
But life goes on
So sing as well.
Just close your eyes and you will see all the memories that you have of me

Just sit and relax and you will find, I’m really still there inside your mind.

Don’t cry for me now I’m gone, for I am in the land of song.

There is no pain, there is no fear, so dry away that silent tear

Don’t think of me in the dark and cold. for here I am, no longer old.

I’m in that place that’s filled with love, known to you all, as “up above”.
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He Is Dead’,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

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