Poetry Thursday, for Uncle Sal

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 lightening 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 

Since my other computer made a mad dash for the junkyard, I am without many of my pics.  But I found this one.  Here is Uncle Sal looking hale.  As we prepare to say goodbye to his body, I am remembering the many times he told me how proud he was of me.  Maybe he said it to everyone, but he was one of few who always made a point to tell me.  We all need to hear those words as much as we need to hear I love you.  And Uncle Sal, human and flawed like all of us, was really good at sharing love and pride.  I hope you are driving around in heaven, eating whatever you like, riding horses and dancing a jig.  Now you are free of the body that was limiting you... and I know your spirit is soaring.