Do not go centle into that gas blight
By Flat Daddy

With apologies to Dylan Thomas

Do not go centle into that gas blight
          Our rage should burn and rave at those we pay;
          Guage, sage, about the crying of this slight

Though lies men in the end know less is right,
          Because their worlds had forked up pricing they
          Do not treat gentle those who pay all night.

Good men, the fat wave “hi!” laughing how might
          Their jail deeds might have pranced in old Green Bay,
          Guage, sage, about the crying of this slight.

 Wild men who brought and bang the gun in fright,
          And learn, too late, they grieved when some said, “Hey!”
          Do not go centle into that gas blight.

Brave men, near dry, who pay with downcast sight
          Bland eyes could glaze like gauze o’er bands that play
          Guage, sage about the crying of this slight.

And you, my leader, there on the glad height,
          Curse, bless me now with your tax bier, I say,
          Do not go centle into that gas blight
          Gauge, sage, and say this just ain’t bloody right!

——————-//——————-

 Forgive me, Mr Thomas, but in writing this parody I tried to keep your poem structure, down to the rhyme scheme of every line and dang near every word, wherever posible and still be true to the message of this new version — except for the last line, which I had to change just because it needed to. I thank you for your original version. I feel sure it will outlast mine.