Funeral Blues

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 crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton cloves.

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 tought 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.

Dikten finns med i filmen "Fyra bröllop och en begravning". Den skrevs av W.H Auden i April 1936. Den finns också i boken "Tell me the truth about love". Den innehåller 10 st dikter av just W.H Auden. Det finns mer om honom på:

Här kommer 2 andra små söta dikter:

When I am dead you`ll find it hard,

Said he,

To ever find another man like me.

What makes you think, as I suppose

You do,

I´d ever want another man like you?

Indian summer

In youth, it was I way I had

To do my best to please,

And change, with every passing lad,

To suit his theories.

But now I know the things I know,

And do the things I do;

And if you do not like me so,

To hell, my love with you!

Home Page Becky Denni Missan KFV