| Funeral
blues Stop all the cloks,cut off the telephone,
Prevent the
dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the
pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out
coffin, let mourners come..
Let
aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scirbling
on the sky the message
H E I S D E
A D !
Put crepe
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
day 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 sun
Pour away
the ocean and sweep up the wood
Por nothing
now can ever come to any good.
(w.h. Auden
1907- 1973)
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