Poetic ASMR – Funeral Blues (Whispered poem with background sounds)

Poetic ASMR 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 crêpe 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.

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