Current location:	Waukegan, IL
Current mood:	contemplative
Entry tags:	memories, wisdom

Odd, how some words never quite leave your lexicon.
With the passing of the solstice, I would like to share a poem. Those who know me well know that one of my quirks is that, for all my love of art and artistry of all shades and media, poetry somehow fails to turn my heart. It's the rare bit of verse that actually touches me.

Here is one of the passing rareties that has managed to latch its words into my memory. It's one of the few that I could quote more than a few lines from memory.

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.

- Dylan Thomas

Verse, like all great art, allows interpretation per the context of the audience. I feel it's appropriate for this longest eve of the year.