Trösterik är den ...

... och jag tycker mycket om den: Funeral Blues av W H Auden. Den beskriver overklighetskänslan när någon  som stått nära gått bort.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the
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 the public
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 woods;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


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