Go gentle, gentle, into that good night

Old age brings acceptance of this last fate

Fly, fly to the beckoning, golden light

 

All seasons will end by pre-ordained right

The wise men know that when the hour is late

Their soul will take leave for eternal light

 

Good men do not fear the long, deep dark night.

Do not rage, sadly berating your fate,

Go gentle and rest, return to the light

 

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

Will sing in their dreams with no wish to wait

They will fly swiftly, to shining, bright light

 

Grave men will ponder the beauty of night

They will pray tenderly, knowing their fate,

Remembering all that was loving, bright

 

And you my father,  in that blessed night

Look upon me, with no sadness, and wait

I will not rage at the death of the light

I will go gentle into that good night

 

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(sorry Mr Thomas – you know this means no disrespect – you are my favourite poet after Shakespeare – and I will pray for you often)