~xXSheltiePrincessXx

Stop all the clocks, cutt 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 airplanes 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 policeman wear black cotten 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 the love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; pack up the moon and dimantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good. W.H.Auden
~In Loving Memory of Uncle Ed.
~September 11th, 1949- August 15, 2008. Age 58.