FUNERAL BLUES

I heard this poem first when I watched Four Weddings and a Funeral, when I heard it was so right. This is how it feels like when your loved ones die. It will feel like hell but in time, eventually, it all turns out well.

This poem is for my father, I would’ve recited this on your wake if I had known W.H. Auden when I was 4 or if I could read well then.

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Funeral Blues

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 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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