8/31/2004 - 6/29/2020Turn off the clock, cut off the telephone
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone
Silence the piano and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin
Let the mourners come

Let aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message she is dead
Put crepe bows around the necks of the white public doves
Let the traffic police me wear black cotton gloves

He was my north, my south, my east, my west
My working week and my Sunday’s rest.
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song
I thought love could last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now, put out every one
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun
Pour out the oceans and sweep up the wood
For now, nothing can ever come to any good.
Shauna ReaderBaton Rouge, LouisianaJune 30, 2020
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