It’s a hard thing to wake at dawn,
And wonder why the day was born,
To feel the night still drag you down,
Like an aged queen who’s lost her crown,
And despairing, searches all her life,
For one to save her, to take the knife,
To wake in silence to a glooming room,
As if the world had met its doom,
No sound of voice, no children’s song,
Too late for that, it’s been too long;
To open eyes to a world gone mad,
And so, the constant state of being sad,
Unheard, unseen, unloved, unknown,
Thinking that the fault’s your own,
But then there came a tapping-
Which became a louder rapping,
Upon the white-framed window pane,
On which there drummed a dreary rain,
The majestic rapping of a kingly crow,
That saw me toss my head in woe,
And called to me, “Awaken, from your semi-death,
A new day dawns, draw deep a breath.”
One Voyce of the World 
With due apologies (for frivolity):
”whose lost”.
Please check.
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thanks for catching that-corrected
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You reminded me of Dylan, that’s got to be good huh?
Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night
By Dylan 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 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.
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Thanks Kevin, I’d like to be as good as Thomas-still trying, but thank you, high praise-to compare to one of my favourite poems-
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