Life has been crazy around here. It’s difficult to get use to being my parent’s caregiver. I can’t seem to catch my breath. I haven’t had time to read or to write. This evening, I was trying to catch up on all the blogs I follow, and read about the death of a dear Gentleman, a fellow blogger. David, of A View from the Top, died a few weeks ago. 

I read his blog, exchanged conversational bits via email and comments. I looked forward to the latest posts, and his stories. Now he is gone. As I read Monkey’s blog, I had a poem thump me. One that pops up from time to time. My thoughts and prayers go out to her, and I hope that somewhere, under a sunny sky, he’s writing and figuring out how to post them. 

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 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 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.

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