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Going Gentle Into That Good Night

I voluntarily went into a National Trust tearoom this afternoon and enjoyed a cream tea.

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

What was I thinking? It's the end, get me some tartan slippers and wish me well as soup dribbles down my cardy...

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.


That provoked some thought, and some memories.

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay


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