Friday, December 19, 2008

Remembering Sean

Ireland, originally uploaded by squib_pig.

He disappeared in the dead of winter:
The brooks were frozen, the airports almost deserted,
The snow disfigured the public statues;
The mercury sank in the mouth of the dying day.
What instruments we have agree
The day of his death was a dark cold day.

Far from his illness
The wolves ran on through the evergreen forests,
The peasant river was untempted by the fashionable quays;
By mourning tongues
The death of the poet was kept from his poems.
- W.H. Auden

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thank you for your blog post, beautiful poem, and very touching. I miss my Dad probably more than anyone would think, and even after two years I still can't believe I can't pick up the phone and talk with him... I spent hours talking with my Dad, and that I miss. I don't know what else to say, but Thanks.