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, 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. by Dylan Thomas,[

An adventurer with a thirst for knowledge, fearless, outgoing, loving laughter, fun and life. I'm passionate about my stuff, bold, and educated. I believe successful relationships are those built on a solid foundation of open communications and reciprocity. I enjoy the arts, cycling, times at the gym, and upscale restaurants. I'm anything but boring, refreshingly honest yet, would never judge you.
A progressive Democrat living in the Republican farm belt, watching out for a framework of the US Constitution that guarantees equal rights to the entire diverse spectrum of the population.

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