Winter woes

Seeking shelter beneath a leafless tree

In this thrum of incessant rain

With the day becoming darker than night

Feeling marooned.

The sky artist painting deepening grey lines

Seeking sanctuary with blurred eyes

Darkness can speak strange languages

He stares at nothingness, the mind blank.

For some kind of comfort he spoke the words of Dylan Thomas –

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 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 the 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.

Poetry from The ManShed

With thanks to Dylan Thomas

16/11/19