Dear Mr. Trump,
With apologies to my favorite poet, Dylan Thomas, here’s one for you and yours as we approach election day.
All wise men and women know that blue is right,
So hear now our words that fork their lightning:
We won’t go gentle into that good night.
Good people, the blue wave nigh, cry how bright
Their voting deeds will yet dance in a blue bay,
Rage, rage against your killing of our light.
Wild blue, which sings the sun in flight,
Will show it’s not too late to speed your hate away;
We won’t go gentle into that good night.
Grave men and women, beyond death, who see with blinding sight
Your supporters blaze like Nazi meteors, still say
“Rage, rage against the killing of our light.”
And you, cursed president, on that shameful height,
Bless us with your fierce ignorant tears.
We won’t go gentle into that good night.
We will rage, rage against your killing of our light.
Be strong, Americans. Vote.
Very truly yours,
Bruce J. Berger
brucejberger 