Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone!

It has happened to me before. It is happening again. Come the rains and the memories just flood the heart. And all I am capable to do during these times is to sit on the window pane, look outside and just feel the moment. There are poems, many poems which can be narrated during these times, but this one has some sublime effect on me. And I just go in a trance as I read it aloud...

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

Some thoughts have a way of creeping up and leaving a mark behind. The rains have this effect on me.