I just watched a friend doze off to sleep,
A labored breeze no longer gently sways the living grass,
And stately ripples, once so visible upon the pond,
Have run their course and dissipate,
The waters still like glass.
An age-old playwright brings the curtain down once more,
The final act it seems,
And guides the ancient Viking ship along its course
To destinations, not so far away,
The place foretold by gods and prophets long ago,
A pleasant dream indeed,
The chance at last to sleep, to rest,
And, although no longer seen by quickened few,
The immortal soul, no doubt, remains.
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