ERIN LINDSEY BATEMAN

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ERIN LINDSEY BATEMAN 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 airplanes circle moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message; She Is Dead, Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves, Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves. She 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 though 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 wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good. W. H. AUDEN Miss you on this day that would have been your 40th birthday. Love MOM

As published in Winnipeg Free Press on Sep 22, 2016