(no title) (original) (raw)

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.

• Angel babies

Haven't been sleeping well for last two weeks. Its hard to cope with the grief that comes with losing a child, even in the early stages. Maddie has…

• Bump

So... exciting times are here! I caught a sight of myself in the mirror today and yep... I noticed the bump for the first time. So I took my…

• (no subject)

I am cautiously excited.