Do not let this thread go gentle into that good night!
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old thread should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise nefs at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good nefs, 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 dasmed the thread 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 dasm thread, 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.
by Nef Thomas