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‘Do not go gentle into that good night’

I formiddag døde vår lille rotte Mateo, nesten to måneder etter broren Levi. De ble begge gamle menn, og mens de døde av de samme alderdomsrelaterte plagene, håndterte de døden ganske så forskjellig. Man kan selvfølgelig aldri vite hva de tenkte eller følte, men da Levi trakk seg rolig tilbake til en mørk og lun sovehule og døde i den, kan det virke som om Mateo hadde en liten Dylan Thomas i seg:

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.

06.03.2012 av Heidi Terese
Kategorier: Små venner | Merkelapper: dikt, rotter | 5 kommentarer