
| Location | Newcastle Upon Tyne |
| Age | 39 years |
| Date of Death | 12/2007 |
| Visitors | 1,061 since 02/01/2008 |
| Creator |
Darius Kodjo Codjie, died suddenly on 6 December 2007 aged 39
Customer Services Team, National Express, North East Region, formerly GNER. Newcastle-upon-Tyne
Peu importe où j'irai après ma mort, car, des deux côtés, j'ai des amis qui
m'attendent.
The family would like to express our sincere gratitude and appreciation to all his colleagues,
friends, sympathisers and well-wishers for attending his funeral mass, and all who have provided
tributes, donations, messages, cards, condolences and support in diverse ways since he died. May
God richly bless you all. Thank you very much.
La famille voudrait exprimer notre gratitude sincère et appréciation à tous ses collègues, amis,
sympathisants et partisans pour assister à sa masse de funérailles et tous qui ont fourni des
hommages, des donations, des messages, des cartes, des condoléances et un soutien des façons
diverses depuis que il est mort. Peut Dieu bénir richement vous tous. Merci très beaucoup.
It was beautiful as long as it lasted
It was beautiful as long as it lasted
The journey of my life.
I have no regrets whatsoever
save the pain I'll leave behind.
Those dear hearts who love and care...
And the strings pulling at the heart and soul...
The strong arms that held me up
When my own strength let me down.
At every turning of my life I came across good friends,
Friends who stood by me,
Even when the time raced me by.
Farewell, farewell my friends
I smile and bid you goodbye.
No, shed no tears for I need them not
All I need is your smile.
If you feel sad do think of me
for that's what I'll like when you live in the hearts
of those you love, remember then
you never die.
There are only so many words
And I’m stuck with the ones I’ve got:
Lines are drawn desperately between roads,
The singing trees, their lost leaves,
‘Darius died two months ago’
The echoes grow fainter,
Footsteps down the corridor,
Swing doors and the smell of dinners,
A notice by a phone: 'if you are lost, ring here'.
There is a Time for Everything
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under heaven:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
Ecclestiastes 3: 1-10
Watching over you
Now I’m watching over you,
because I really care about you,
don’t worry I’m still watching you,
I watch when you are asleep,
I know you miss me so much,
and you loved me with all your heart,
but I’m in a better place now,
and you cannot tear it apart,
you don’t have to worry now,
I’m with some of my relatives,
just take care better care of yourself,
and you shall live,
I’m always around you,
and always on the inside,
I’m in the wind,
in your dreams,
anywhere you seek me,
just have the time of your life,
and don’t cut it too short,
take in every second, minute, hour,
because you’ll never know when you’ll
end up where I am.
Remembering your birthday
Heaven is where you are, its true,
Above the storm clouds and rain,
Where the sky is so eternally blue
And there is no more sickness or pain.
In loving memory on what would
have been your 40th birthday.
May your soul rest in peace.
Walk in sunshine
May you always walk in sunshine and God’s love around
you flow,
for the happiness you gave us, no one will ever know,
it broke our hearts to lose you, but you did not go alone,
a part of us went with you, the day God called you home.
A million times we’ve needed you.
A million times we’ve cried.
If love could only have saved you.
You never would have died.
The Lord be with you,
And may you rest in peace.
Beautiful Father
A light is from our household gone
A voice we loved is stilled,
A place is vacant in our home
Which never can be filled.
God gave us a beautiful father
A father who never grew old
You were always there with a helping hand
Help us now to accept His plan.
We miss you now, our hearts are sore
As time goes by, we miss you more
Your loving smile, your gentle face
No one can take our father’s place.
May the Choirs of Angels receive you and
may you have rest and peace everlasting. Amen
Perfection Wasted
And another regrettable thing about death
is the ceasing of your own brand of magic,
which took a whole life to develop and market --
the quips, the witticisms, the slant
adjusted to a few, those loved ones nearest
the lip of the stage, their soft faces blanched
in the footlight glow, their laughter close to tears,
their tears confused with their diamond earrings,
their warm pooled breath in and out with your heartbeat,
their response and your performance twinned.
The jokes over the phone. The memories
packed in the rapid-access file. The whole act.
Who will do it again? That's it: no one;
imitators and descendants aren't the same.
The Lord is my Shepherd
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.
He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.
He leadeth me beside the still waters.
He restoreth my soul.
He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil; for Thou art with me,
Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.
Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies.
Thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
STOP ALL THE CLOCKS
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 forever, 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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