This is an amazing poem, written by a poet about his partner.
The beauty and sweetness of these words can be for all of us, all of human beings.
R.I.P. Sweet Heath.
FUNERAL BLUES
Wystan Hugh 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 crêpe 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.