Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

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.

For those who did not have time to "Rage, rage against the dying of the light", I will rage for you. For those whose life ended with a gasp and a last breath, I will rage for you. For you, John, whose light will never shine again, I will rage for you.

I will protest the extinguishing of your light from the mountain top, because you, of all of us, were the gentlest; the kindest; the most compassionate. All lights burn less brightly because you are not in this world. The creatures of the earth, the birds of the sky, the earth-bound, trudging humans are less without you.

As you lived, you died. Gently, without fuss, without fanfare. There is tragedy in our lives now, where before there was just the progression of life: birth, age, death in the autumn of years. Now we know the taking of a good man before his time. We are diminished.

John, the world is sad. You are loved. You are missed.

Absurdly,
Pat