Go Gentle (answering Dylan Thomas)

We cannot rise ‘less those before us fall,
for like the sprout that springs from sanguine soil,
each death is life, each dirge a newborn’s squall.

The rose is watered by death’s stinging gall,
each grave’s a furrow tilled by living’s toil,
we cannot rise ‘less those before us fall.

The fallen tree becomes our hallowed hall,
the bones of dinosaurs become our oil,
each death is life, each dirge a newborn’s squall.

Upon our fathers’ shoulders stand we tall,
we trade calm mother’s-love for passion’s roil,
we cannot rise ‘less those before us fall.

Therefore, spend not your days in night’s dark thrall,
nor let the ticking clock your time despoil,
each death is life, each dirge a newborn’s squall.

The Reaper’s touch, seek not you to forestall,
for Death is Life’s companion, not her foil.
We cannot rise ‘less those before us fall;
each death is life, each dirge a newborn’s squall.