Memorial for the Sweetest Guy I've Ever Met

Today would have been Trey's 37th birthday. I miss him more than I can say.

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea
by e. e. cummings



“he was a farm boy – poor
poor and perfect, with eyes
like the sea after a storm”



Funeral Blues

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 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 forever; 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.

-W.H. Auden