Do not go gentle into that good night

In light of recent events, this poem (actually it's a villanelle, yes I am an english nerd :) that we studied in high school popped into my head. I can still remember doing a literary analysis of each line, and it applies so perfectly right now. She isn't giving up yet.


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

things to do

While cleaning out Frank's study today I ran across his planner. It was the average sort, worn brown leather, pages filled with things to do. I skimmed over the months. January. February. March. April. May. June. I smiled at the events marked in the calendar that had happened. Tend Matt's kids. Maylee's Blessing. Beach Boys concert in St. George. Then July. August. September. October. November. December. The events on these pages became blury as a new wave of sadness came. He still had things to do. I know he is busy doing things on the other side, and I am sure he has a less-worn-out brown leather planner to organize all of those things, but he still had things to do here. We sure miss him.