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 her North, her South, her East and West,
Her working week and her Sunday rest,
Her noon, her midnight, her talk, her 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.
W.H. Auden
Allison, I am so very heartbroken for you and the rest of Clay's family. You are in my thoughts and prayers.##imported-begin##Leigh Cooper##imported-end##