420. Poem: Sorry, kid, I'm going gentle.

No matter what you hear rage rage from the crazy Irishman your English prof loves no matter what you hear around caskets oh he was a fighter no matter how many expressions of man's indomitable spirit are held up to you in anthologies Ahab that idiot taking a whale's natural slash personally even cosmically while the instructed hearts of the students go pitty-pat over a man a mere man but our man standing up against a hostile universe while the instructor pale but young and so far from the last intravenous drip beams at the even younger fellows of his noble species I say OK it's a battle and what does a sensible human being do when he contemplates battle a general or a country he figures his chances and if they are very much against him he doesn't fight and what are his chances here zero kid zero so do you expect your old man to fight and go down like an idiot?