[u]Stroking Sketch's head, Po makes no move to push him away. He left so suddenly, abandoning his best friend, only to come back on his deathbed. He himself partially hoped that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't die, but he knew what was happening to his body. His days were numbered, and he had no intention to die peacefully.[/u] "[i]As a wise man once said, Do not go gently 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 lighting they Do not go gently into the 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 it's 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 if the light. And you, my father, There be in 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.[/i]"