I am a sometimes sailor with many
Ports of call.  I am a dreamer and
I go where I go.  There  are only
Dreams on my itinerary- some
More vivid; some I like not at all
Some bright are not my type and
Some though dim are very rosey.

Between my voyages I know not
No thought and when I wake I
Have no idea where I've been or
If any time has passed.  I am dead.
Then I dream again waking from
The deepest sleep.  That's the way
It is.  Nothing lasts but the trip it-
Self.  I cannot count how many
Times I have died and rose again.
As the old woman said: You call
This living!  It is a sham.  To which
I reply a sham for you my darling
And most becoming.  She makes
No answer but I  I see the a twinkle
In her eye and that for me is good
Enough; Makes all the difference.