Paint it, BLACK

So as many of you (once I have any readers) know, my Halmoni past this passed Tuesday. She was the best, and you all have done your best to be good to me.

Thank you.

and that's all I'm going to say about that. I'll post a poem that my cousin K suggested:

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 She is Dead.

put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

She 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 woods;

for nothing now can ever come to any good.

-W. H. Auden

(slight modification)