When a Friend Leaves Us Behind . . .
Stop all the clocks, turn off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking about his bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let airplanes circle, moaning overhead, and
Scribbling on the sky the message, "He is Dead."
Put black bows round the necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was our North, our South, our East and West,
Our working week and Our Sunday rest,
Our noon, our midnight, our speech, our song;
We thought that he would last forever, but we were 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 a better good.
                                                                        - W.H. Auden