Max Ivan Binger

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 the 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 for ever: 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

2 år

Bedemand Paulsen

Storegade 12, 6700 Esbjerg
https://bedemandpaulsen.dk

Skriv en hilsen

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Max Ivan Binger

Bedemand Paulsen

Storegade 12, 6700 Esbjerg https://bedemandpaulsen.dk

Skriv en hilsen

Indsæt YouTube-link

Del mindeside

Få besked

Storegade 12, 6700 Esbjerg
https://bedemandpaulsen.dk