Farrah Fawcett put up a great fight - sadly she lost, and Michael Jackson will be Twittering and Googling for a few days yet.
Yesterday, I was early for a meeting in Tunbridge Wells, and while waiting for the other two reprobates, with whom I have the pleasure of a 'Company Organisation', I wandered around in the street, and found myself looking in the window of a Funeral Directors.
There was a display of the usual kindness and soothing pictures, but also a small writing, which actually brought the Scrobs' eyes to a moisturising condition - a rare event except during (and after) such lunches where the comestibles become heavier than 13%...
I've Googled the words, and here they are, in abbreviated form...
A ship sails and I stand watching
till she fades on the horizon,
and someone at my side says,
"She is gone."
Gone from my sight, that is all.
She is just as large as when I saw her.
The diminished size and total loss of sight
is in me, not in her.
And just at the moment when someone at my side says,
"She is gone," there are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout...
"Here she comes!"
... and that is dying.
So now you know.