Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightening 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 gree bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sung 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.
R.I.P
Farah Fawcett 1947 -2009
Michael Jackson 1958 - 2009
Poem: Dylan Thomas 1914 -1953
Pictures: BBCi
