Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
This lady had the right idea, may she rest in peace.
Great poem. Remember it since high school but it’s such a futile effort. When the reaper comes knocking, all the kicking and screaming in the world wont help.
I hope I can be as brave as this woman was. Probably not lol. I am a know coward. Wanted in 12 states for 1st degree cowardice :)
I read that poem at my Dad’s funeral. Nothing else could have drawn the old soldier’s last infuriating days the way that poem did. It will always have a wild place in my heart, as does he.