Clark, Collin Dexter

Clark, Collin Dexter
01 Jun
2018

Collin Dexter Clark, age 45, better known as “Terry”, of Chapman Street, St. Michael, Employee of the Barbados Port Authority, Son of Sarah Bramble and Julian St. Rose, Stepson of George Bramble, Father of Moya Tull-Clark, Brother of Dolly Clarke of the U.S.A., Peter Bramble and the late Bonny Clarke of St. Lucia, Uncle of Jovana , Anaya , Tia and Jama Clarke - all of the U.S.A., Oswald Clarke, Samuel Bramble of St. Lucia and Donelly Estovar, Nephew of Dellon Peters, Esther Theodore, Petra and Nol Clarke, Companion of Adella Tull, Cousin of Sandra, Jennifer, Angie, Trevor, Christine, Tiffany, Keva, Brenda, Gregory, Karl , Miranda, Vincent and Brian Clarke and Claudia Kirton, Friend of Inity, Claytus Beharre, Chester Decouteau, Sally Escovar, Elizabeth Hoyte, Dale Wharton, Pinky and many others.

The funeral of Collin Dexter Clark leaves Keith Jones Funeral Home, Passage Road, St. Michael on Friday, June 01st, 2018 at 12:30 p.m. for the Chapel of Coral Ridge Memorial Gardens, The Ridge, Christ Church, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 2:00 p.m. for a Service of Thanksgiving, followed by the interment in the Frangipani Lawns.

The Organist is asked to attend.

Floral tributes may be sent to Keith Jones Funeral Home no later than 12:00 noon on Friday.

Visitation will take place in the Chapel of Keith Jones Funeral Home from 4:30 p.m. until 6:30 p.m. on Thursday.

Condolences can be sent to: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.

  • Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
    Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightening they Do not go gentle into that good night.   Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.   Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.