Poem for Bob Crow (cheers W.H. Auden)

Stop all the docks, cut off the trains, 
Start the mariners striking, be still the cranes, 
Silence the busses and with muffled bullhorn 
Bring out the coffin, let the workers come. 

Let politicians circle, moaning overhead 
confessing on the airwaves, He Is RED, 
Put nooses round the white necks of the bosses, 
Let the riot policemen carry their own crosses. 

He was my leader, my future, my inspiration, the best, 
My health my safety, my Sunday rest, 
My comrade, my struggle, my speech, my song; 
I thought his passion would last for ever: I was wrong. 

The scars still wanted now: proudly borne every one; 
Pack up the moon and don't buy the sun; 
Crossing the ocean and tracks where he could. 
For everything he did, continues to deliver good.

In Solidarity Bob Crow