Inspired by the Dylan Thomas poem, “Do Not Go Gentle Into that Good Night”
Do not go gentle into the night. Old age should burn and rave at close of day. Rage, rage, against the dying of the light. But, do not linger friend or you’ll lose your way. Though wise men, at their end, know dark is right… dark is right. Because their words had forked no lightning, they don’t go gentle… not gentle into the night. As men die, you hear them cry, “Oh how bright!”, yelled from on high. Their frail deeds will matter not when on their knees, tongues in a knot. Wild men who caught and sang the sun each day, they learn—too late—and grieved it on its way. Wild men who caught and sang the sun each day, they learn—too late—and grieved it on its way. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight… rage, rage, against the dying of the light. Though, those wise men—so wise, at their ends—know dark is right in the night.
