<p>&#160;<img style="border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px" border="0" alt="" src="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_l8beoyeH181qaoueko1_500.jpg" width="525" height="354" />&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160;&#160; </p>  <p>Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,    <br />Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,     <br />Silence the pianos and with muffled drum     <br />Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come. </p>  <p>   <br />Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead     <br />Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,     <br />Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,     <br />Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. </p>  <p>   <br />He was my North, my South, my East and West,     <br />My working week and my Sunday rest,     <br />My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;     <br />I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.</p>  <p>   <br />The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;     <br />Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;     <br />Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.     <br />For nothing now can ever come to any good.</p>  <p>W. H. Auden</p>  <p>(<a href="http://deadmarch.tumblr.com/page/6">Image</a> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dabas/3443566068/">Source</a>)</p>