Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone ...
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone
W. H. Auden
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 for ever: 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.
Kommentarer
Postat av: Catarina
Den är så fin den dikten.
(och jag vet ju att du gillar filmen också)
Postat av: Anonym
No Words
Author: Richard Hayman Ricky
What is there left
When there is nothing left to say
When you are faced with a choice
Of whether to stay or walk away.
What is there left
When there is nothing left to feel
When you let pride get in the way
And when the problems seem too real.
What is there left
When there is nothing left to be spoken
When you realize it's a new day
But your heart remains broken.
What is there left
When you lose touch
When you finally realize
That she loved you so much.
What is there left
When you cry for her gentle memory
When you cherish all you had
Before her untimely tragedy.
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