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Does anyone know who wrote the poem with the lines "He was my north, my south, my east, my west, my (something or other), and my Sunday best".
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For more on marking an answer as the "Best Answer", please visit our FAQ.*******!! it censored *******! In case it does again, this missing part above is * * * * e y s. Oh to hell with it here's the poem:
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.
Probably, there was actualluy a lot more to the poem, coming from Two Songs for Hedli Anderson in
Selected Poems of W.H. Auden in fact the above is only the 1st song. This version is not the second part:
Stop all the traffic, make the lights go red,
For there�s something missing �down there�, I dread.
Silence the cell phones and stop the snakes hissing,
For one of my balls has now come up missing.
Let the news choppers circle the city in fleets,
Flying up, flying down, my well-traveled streets.
Because at some crossing or other, I know
That one of my gonads decided to go.
It was my right, my friend, the mate to my left,
Who�s now looking lonely and very bereft.
My morning twiddle, my midnight grope,
I thought my boxers would hold them. But nope.
He must have escaped when I wasn�t looking,
Some plan or another he must have been cooking.
Watch where you step, he�s lying about,
For nothing good comes of your ball popping out.