#PHOT: The Towerbridge by night

Bij the Funeral Blues krijg ik altijd tranen in mijn ogen.
Dat gedicht past natuurlijk helemaal niet bij mijn bezoek aan Londen en een technologie beurs.
Maar mijn voorwerk was gedaan…nu op zoek naar de passende foto.
Helaas verder dan de prachtige Tower Bridge wil ik niet gaan…

Funeral Blues W.H. Auden

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with the juicy bone.
Silence the pianos and, with muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin. Let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message: “He is dead!”
Put crepe bows around 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 Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song.
I thought 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 come to any good.