Dag 365. Du var mitt norr, mitt söder, mitt väst och öst

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

(...)

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).

Ungdom, vila i frid!

I thought that you would last for ever: I was wrong.