Condolences to those with lost, sick, or angeled search-and-retrieval
professionals...
 
(Yep, they'll find it, retrieve it, THEN STASH IT!)
 
I think that Rusti, my little old lady, and Ziggy, my crazy old man, would
have been proud to have lived and passed on like this:
 
        (Apologies to Dillon Thomas)
 
        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 ferts at their end know dark is right,
        Because their dooks had forked no lightning they
        Do not go gentle into that good night.
 
        Good floopies, the last wave by, crying how bright
        Their frail deeds might have danced in a green hammock,
        Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
 
        Wild sprites who caught and sang the sun in flight,
        Then Rusti learned, too late, she grieved it on its way,
        Do not go gentle into that good night.
 
        Grave hobs, near death, who see with blinding sight
        Ziggy's blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
        Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
 
        And you, my caretaker, there on the sad night,
        Curse me, 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!
 
Not all ferts want to go.  Some want to stay and fight every day, just a
little bit further, another morning, another feeding of that wonderful
baby food.  Another snuggle in a sleep-sack.  Another stolen snack.
Another chance to play in a plastic bag.  Another trip through the
tunnels.  Sometimes, life just doesn't want to flicker out.  I'd like to
think my two little ones were of that breed.  I'm proud to have shared
time with them...and proud to carry their memories in my heart.
 
Todd and the (poetic, ain't we? :)) Fuzzbutt Rodeo Clowns
---
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[Posted in FML issue 3784]