Stop All The Clocks

There was a death in my family today.


I haven't been close to him for many years now, if ever...


But there's something about the finality of death that shakes you... to the core...


I began thinking about one of my favorite poems.


And when I read it over, I thought-- there is somebody out there, present or past, that feels this very way about him.

And there is somebody (several somebody's, in fact) at this very moment in time...

who I can say, with absolute certainty, I feel this way about.

SO.... HERE'S TO YOU AND THE PERSON WHO FEELS (or felt) THIS WAY FOR YOU...



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 woods:
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

by W.H. Auden