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Poetic Musings:
I suppose I should admit to a little nostalgia: too many faces from my growing years have faded this fall, so – as a requiem maybe, a favourite poem. Dylan Thomas, master of the ‘magic scan’, by which I mean that natural ability to find a perfect match and rhythm in every line, whilst still holding wide the window to his soul. For all those I loved from afar –
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 not 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.