Go Gentle Into That Goodnight

GO GENTLE INTO THAT GOODNIGHT Crunch of gravel - and a boat grounds its prow: Cloud and wind hide its arrest From the small cottage near the dark forest With its candle almost snuffed out now. The moon of hunters, full moon’s glare Exposes the cottage on the heath. Settling his glinting knife blade redly in its sheath, He catches the candle in his stare. Black-coated shoulders open door without fumble: Slowly, hesitantly, with caution and care, His wet-booted feet tread the stair, Silent, upward, without creak or stumble. The bedroom candle starts to gutter and dim. Small blonde curls spread on fresh sheets clean. The knife is at his side, its keen Ready blade, red and grim. Blow out candle’s life, the last flame. His shoulders bend over the blonde curl - Hand reaches down to the small face of the girl. ‘Goodnight daddy,’ she whispers his name; She falls asleep to his kiss and hug. He turns then back down the wooden stair: Puts carefully on the workbench there The fish-gutting knife in its sheath snug. He opens the kitchen door of his seashore home, And a smiling woman turns and says, ‘You’re late again tonight - but she stays Waiting with the candle till you come.’