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
My Day Lily decided to push forth one last beautiful bloom before bowing to the fall weather. I know flower shots are tiring, but I just had to take the photo because I know before long the harshness of winter will leave me wishing for them.
@sarasdadandmom You’re just too nice! Thank you. It was worth lying on my stomach on the wet patio and leaving for work with wet elbows, knees and belly for!
