Do not go meek out in that good night,
 Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
 Rage, rage on this, the die off of the light.

 Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
 But since their words had forked no bright sparks they
 Do not go meek out in that good night.

 Good men, the last wave by, cry out how bright
 Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
 Rage, rage on this, the die off 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 meek out in that good night.

 Grave men, near death, who see with blacked out sight
 Blind eyes could blaze like stars rain down and be gay,
 Rage, rage on this, the die off of the light.

 And you, my dad, there on the sad height,
 Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
 Do not go meek out in that good night.
 Rage, rage on this, the die off of the light.

                                -- Dyle Thoms

back