A Candle for Tara

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Tell Dawn her stand-in mom will not be coming home,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the Scoobies come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'she is dead',
Let Buffy and Spike pause in making their forbidden love,
Let Xander and Anya take off their boxing gloves.

She was Willow's North, her South, her East and West,
Her working week and her Sunday rest,
Her noon, her midnight, her talk, her song;
We thought their love would last for ever: we were 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.