The following was written by Dylan Thomas to his father, as his sire lay dying.
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, their last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deed 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.
Sadly, my father died early Sunday morning. Like the elder Thomas, he too raged against the dying of the light, and his passing was made gentle only by the blessings of morphine. I will miss him terribly - more than I can ever say, more than you can ever know.
I did have one thing that many men never do. He could tell me that he loved me, and I could tell him that I loved him. And we did. Many, many times.
Good bye, Daddy. I kissed your eyes to final sleep, and bore you gently from this world as you tenderly bore me into it - with love, and pride, and sorrow, and boundless admiration. Your breath now gone, your heart stilled, and your flesh grown cold, you'll live forever, safe and warm in my heart. I love you.