20/10/2025
We often get asked how we do what we do. I think this poem sums it up perfectly. Everyday is a privilege.
The Funeral Director
The old lady stood before me,
Dressed in black and so forlorn
Her hair was neat and snowy white,
Her face creased and so careworn.
'My husband died this morning,
at the age of eighty two,
so I have come to see you,
To arrange what I have to do.
'We've been together sixty years'
She whispered as she sighed,
Her eyes filled up, her shoulders slumped
And she broke down and cried.
I comforted the old lady,
Took the burden from her mind,
Arranged the funeral, and she said,
'Thank you, you are so kind.'
After the funeral was over,
Grasping my hand, she said aloud,
'Bless you for all your efforts,
You certainly did him proud'
Now when people ask me
How I can do the job I do,
I think of that old lady and tell them,
Professional satisfaction - that's the clue.