Poetry says it

Frequently I get a song stuck in my head (today it's "Hakuna Matata"). Much less often does a line or section of poetry get stuck. This afternoon, suddenly, I've been thinking "rage rage" (not that I am raging, by any means).

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.

. . . .

And you, my [mother], 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.

I haven't read Dylan Thomas lately, nor do I ever recall reading to the end of this poem before. But, hmmm, in spite of it being about his father (which is why 'mother' is bracketed), it certainly seems to fit. How odd that it should be going through my mind.