My hubby was born in the year that Welsh poet Dylan Thomas died and he was always admiring of Dylans poetry. Hubby had a wonderfully strong speaking voice, and I know there are cassette tapes somewhere in the house of him reciting Dylans poetry and short stories.

When we first met he played me “the burning baby”, a macabre story by Thomas that sent shivers down my back and raised goosebumps on my arms. It was mesmerising to listen to hubby read it, and he howled at the end with gusto. I think he should have been on the radio as a performer.

I just came in from shopping and suddenly the poem “Do not go gentle” by Dylan Thomas came into my memory. I’ve looked it up and copied it. It was read out by a friend at my hubbies celebration of his life. He had always loved it and I hope he would have been pleased that it was performed.

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.

If you can, try and listen to a recording of Dylan Thomas reading it. X