Stop all the clocks

Stop all the clocks
14 Feb
2017

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 crépe 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.

  • My Precious Son
    Unendingly I mourn my precious son Too early yet this earthly home he left, Perfidious sleep confounded nature's order To leave his loves perpetually bereft. Those golden dreams and aspirations, The seed of yesterday a withered bloom, Those baubles which are cause to celebrate In death now mock us gently from his tomb. How treacherous death does steal on youth's exuberance, To wreak such havoc from the ecstasy of life, Where once was only joy and future promise Tormented hearts endure eternal strife.