Weeping Blossoms

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 in 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 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.

This was already popular before John Hannah recites it in "Four Weddings and a Funeral." Just a dark day.

I'm not about to apply the mood-buster. I will revel in this dark mood to support those who have lost most dear to them. Like flowers, grief is something we can freely partake; a state that we never run out of.

In time, it should blossom and we will find a source of joy.