Bleach all the colors from the flowers. Cancel out the sun. Stay the music. Still the dance. Tell laughter it is done. She will not walk this way again so all must cease to walk. Her conversation’s over. The whole world must not talk. Earth upon its axis should still its constant motion. The cook must quiet his cooking pots, the chemist trash his potion. The universe must end itself now that my true love’s dead, and I lay myself beside her on our wedding bed.