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 the 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 policeman 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 all the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
~W.H. Auden~
Counselling Psychology°
Art Psychotherapy°
Laughing so hard it hurts°
Closing my eyes when I drive°
Enjoying the smell of old books°Travelling°the rain°The poetic justice of laughing at people falling over and then doing something stupid in turn
Hello, I'm boring...
