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.
As we near a new season every sensation comes alive in this transition.
Our traditions of Summers in Wisconsin are now being challenged in a big way.
Am I suggesting going outside and having a rave no not at all.
Like how in a winter death grip, we withstand against the freezing temperatures to endure and make a home, so we must endure with the same steadfastness the enclosures of day, and take each ray as a beacon for a better tomorrow.
Do not go gentle into summer, keep vigilant, keep safe, stay home, but certainly enjoy the dying light of the long dusk.
Araceli Esparza is a local Latinx poeta, Chingona and podcast host of Midwest Mujeres - www.midwestmujeres.com.