Good Friday

Stop all the clocks, turn off your phone.

Forget your to-do lists and stay at home

Put out the lights, shut down the sun

Birds need not sing as mourners bring

Condolences to the corpse's family

Let papers print black pages, stating

"He Is Dead" and "Now He's Gone"

Let strong men weep and women mourn

Make mountains wear black snow today

And cement lament in usual grey

As buildings bow down low in sorrow

We ask in solemn horror with those who stood

By the pole that day, that piece of wood

What is it, that makes this Friday good?