Colors of the Sun

Dear Rach,

I wonder if you ever read the poem that inspired me when trying to come up with a name for this blog. You might have studied it in school, but I'd be willing to bet you heard it recited in Four Weddings and A Funeral (unless you avoided that movie, sharing your dad's aversion to anything with Hugh Grant). I think that's when I first heard it. I'm not much of a lover of poetry, but this has always been one of my favorites.

As your dad mentioned in his blog, your old bedroom is full of sun & moon decorations, many of which I bought for birthday and Christmas gifts. I wonder if your mom will ever "pack up the moon and dismantle the sun"...

I kind of hope not.

Funeral Blues

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 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


Love,

Les