My father asked me to include the whole W.H. Auden poem I quoted in the previous post. The poem reads:
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.
I’ll add this, too: a stunning blossom year for the plum tree my parents planted years ago. They bought the tree for twenty bucks. Would a fruit tree take in the desert, my mother wondered. My father reasoned, Heck, it’s twenty bucks. The tree will grow, or not. The tree thrived.
Stony Soil Vermont 
Aw, Brett! A blossoming tree to send your mom on her way and to accompany you and your father and siblings at this grieving time.
Love to all.
(Thank your father for me — I appreciated seeing the entire poem.)
Thank you, Jo. ❤️
So very sorry to hear of your loss. Nothing prepares. Find comfort in this bumper-crop blossom as her send-off. And after some time, may I recommend Hope Edelman’s “Motherless Daughters: The Legacy of Loss. Love, just absolutely love the poem.
Appreciate the book rec…. 💚
Hard to have death come and be so final. Your poems and thoughts
are sensitive and loving. May she rest in peace and may you and your
family find the solace in memories for now.
❤️
What a beautiful $20 investment.
Thank you!
Your father advised wisely.
Gorgeous tree. A tree is an investment, and requires hope and patience. When one grows to be like this one, it’s a testimony. ❤
Wise words. Thank you!