Do not go gently into that good night, father.

Fight, fight, tooth and nail, like the iron-willed boxer

you always were—

dancing around the ring, pumping jabs and ducking, bobbing and weaving—

Sure, you took your lumps and bruises,

and absorbed so many punishing blows,

but always, always, your heart held on, and you rose—

You never stayed down—

You found a way to rise and keep the fight moving forward—

Do not go gently into that good night, father.

It is not yet your time, the bell hasn’t rung,

the ring is your thing

and you have many rounds left to go—

Rage, rage against the shrinking of the light,

as any proud bull would do,

stubbornly plowing ahead to let life know

you were not through with her yet,

no one has thrown in the towel—

Fight, father, fight,

above and beyond the ring,

where your spirit

was always rising to meet challenges,

full of fury and sound

to announce itself

as a force to be reckoned with—

You haven’t heard the bell yet, father,

so do not concede the light to the dark,

fight, fight,

like the steel-willed warrior

you always were.