Poetry

Funeral Blues

　　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 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.

　　-- W. H. Auden

Beans and Rice

I love you once, I love you twice

I love you more than beans and rice

I love you blue, I love you green

I love you more than peach ice cream

I love you north, south, east and west

You’re the one I love the best

SONNET #18

by: William Shakespeare

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer's lease hath all too short a date:

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd

But thy eternal summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;

Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou growest:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this and this gives life to thee.